By The Whill Of The Force
by Senator Lil
Summary: Take one temperamental doctor and her child-genius boyfriend; add a sarcastic husband-and-wife pilot team and a dreamy, romantically befuddled senator. Send them on a mercy mission with the galaxy's most famous Jedi and his bitter wife ... well, what do y
1. Yavin 4

By the Whill of the Force

  


_"Life is a pilgrimage – do not falter on the path because stones cut your feet and leave blood on the trail. In time, you will reach your haven."_

  
  


~1~

Yavin 4

  


The rough paving stones of the great Jedi temple were hard and cold under Luke Skywalker's bare feet, despite the oppressive humidity of the afternoon. The sun beat down from a cloudless, pale yellow sky, and a thin, milky haze blanketed the jungle. The drooping hands of the trees cast long, irregular shadows over the ground in a patchwork pattern, and the whole moon of Yavin 4 seemed hot and exhausted.

It was just a summer's day at the Jedi Academy of Yavin 4.

Luke padded across the great field of interlocking stone, away from the cool, comforting shadow of the doorway and into the steamy afternoon heat. He squinted skyward, shielding his eyes from the sun. 

Nothing yet.

Today was the day that Lilandra Ilkhaine and her sister Kerryna Occot were supposed to be returning to the Academy on one of their frequent visits. 

Luke, being a huge Occot fan, looked forward to each and every one, and went through the same ritual every time Lilandra told him they were coming; their mutual friendship, which had just about reached a state of symbiotic reliance, practically caused him to lose sleep with excitement, although he couldn't be entirely sure that Lilandra felt the same, being rather dependent on the eight hours of sleep she was accustomed to during the work season, even on busy weeknights. 

When the hallowed day finally arrived, he would stay out on the landing pad for hours, testing to see how long he could go without looking at the sky for a glimpse of Lilandra's sharp-nosed shuttle. Today, he was failing himself dismally.

This was to be a rather special visit, in Luke's opinion. He'd not seen Lilandra in months, and though she visited as often as she could, there never seemed to be enough time to accommodate everything they had to talk about, everything they'd planned to do, everything he'd counted on teaching her about the Force.

In the interim, she divided her time between Chad and Coruscant, having obtained dual citizenship and a key to Leia's apartment, busy fixing things up and attending meetings and seminars press conferences and sitting on boards and doing all the things vivacious twenty-six year old, newly-appointed senators were good at doing.

In her off time, usually a month in the summer and a few weeks at the turn of the new year and Life Day, she spent her days getting into all the trouble she probably needed to avoid. Every visit she paid the Academy turned into a different wacky adventure.

When they'd first been introduced, Luke had been in a rather disastrous fight with his wife, and Lilandra had just barely survived a shipwreck and an assassination attempt. That was also the time she'd brought her sister back from the clutches of the dark side, with Luke's help.

The next time their paths had crossed, Luke's niece had gone missing, and Lilandra had helped to deliver his twin children, something altogether monumental in itself.

Undoubtedly, this visit would be no different. Luke only hoped that they'd manage to avoid the life-or-death situations that seemed to inevitably arise at unbidden intervals in his life, most notably when Lilandra was around. Call it bad karma, but the young woman had a definite knack for inviting disaster upon herself.

To pass the time, Luke crossed his legs beneath him, and settled into a sitting position, hovering just inches off the ground. He looked around him, seeing his students putting only moderate effort into their training exercises. Some were off hiking in the thick jungle, others were just sitting quietly in shady nooks, meditating or making small whirlwinds in the dirt with the Force.

His niece, Jaina Solo, was doing neither. She was lounging languidly in a hand-made hammock that was hung across an unused doorway, letting her hands dangle limply over the sides. Luke couldn't tell whether she was asleep or not, but she probably was. Teenagers, especially ones of Jaina's age, seemed to sleep a lot. Briefly, he wondered if *_he'd*_ been so lazy when he was Jaina's age. 

Not a chance. At eighteen, he'd been far too busy with matters of consequence like buying stolen droids to indulge in such idle pleasures as a mid-afternoon nap.

_*It must be rough*, _Luke ruminated with a grin, *_Traipsing about the galaxy for weeks on end, marrying your father's sworn enemy …*_

Dave Tierce, Jaina's new husband and 24-year-old devil incarnate in the eyes of Jaina's father, Han Solo, was an Imperialist … well … an ex-Imperialist. In Han's eyes, that was all the information that was necessary when it came to approving mates for his eldest child. Jaina had had the right idea to elope. 

Luke, though he secretly supported his niece's stubbornness wholeheartedly and appreciated Dave's warm personality and sense of humor, didn't like to get involved in such matters unless they were his own. He'd had enough trouble with his own wife, Mara since their twin children, Tanya and Nathen, had turned three and were sent – against Luke's wishes – to school on Coruscant under the care of Leia's friend Winter. He'd have liked to have had them stay at the academy, to firmly establish and develop their inborn Jedi powers, but Mara had insisted on getting them a proper education.

"Jedi won't always be needed," she'd argued, "I'd much rather see them developing *_useful*_ skills than being idle at the Academy."

Luke still wondered if Mara had meant to insult him by that comment.

A shadow fell across his back, and he turned to see Ton-Ara Jaksbin, another of his students hovering behind him. He angled his head to observe the slight, fine-boned woman as she squinted down at him, a ripple of soft, white-blonde hair falling loose from the clip she'd swept her thin locks up in at the nape of her neck. She caught it between her teeth, attempting to smile at Luke as she patted her hairdo back into place. Luke grinned back.

There was an acknowledgement of Luke as an equal in the young woman's grin that he found quite amusing, considering her age and legal status, but he nodded at her just the same, having developed a deep respect for his surrogate niece over the years since she had come to stay at the academy. 

Not only did her skills as a Jedi match his and Mara's, but in the prime of her adolescence, she'd gone and become a *_doctor*,_ for crying out loud, as puberty had evidently instilled in her an almost otherwordly intelligence and wisdom that completely belied her current nineteen years. She never ceased to amaze her awed master. 

She'd emerged from years of intense study with a serious weight in her pale blue eyes, a slimmer, taller, curvier frame, and bearing the mature moniker Dr. Tara Jaksbin. As she explained, she'd ditched the childish and foreign association attached to Ton-Ara and opted for the sophistication of the Coruscant version of her name afforded her by her colleagues at school. 

She was both the triumph and the mascot of the Jedi, an endorsement of the miracles a life at the Academy could work: from orphan to double graduate in just a few short years. Luke felt blessed to be associated with a woman of such still untapped potential. 

Mara, on the other hand, was slightly less appreciative of Tara's virtues. Having achieved higher levels of vindictiveness while Tara was achieving her higher education, his wife had spoken barely an affectionate word to the girl since her return. If Tara was affected at all by this, she declined to show it, and had most likely stepped outside for a moment to allow the heavy air to soak through whatever rage she'd accumulated towards her aunt on this idle, stifling afternoon, rendering it useless. 

"Master Skywalker," she murmured in her soft, quietly condescending purr. "Must be Lilandra Day."

He stood, brushing off the legs of his brown denims, and grinned at her. "How could you tell?"

"You've been out here all morning in the blistering heat with your head in the clouds while your wife fanatically attempts to coordinate affairs to your impeccable standard." Her voice was slightly harsh, allowing the current state of her temperament to reveal itself only briefly before her docile smirk returned. 

"I'm sorry, Tara. You know how much I look forward to her visits – excitement barely contained." He raised his arms in a shrug to show her he was only kidding. "Besides, I have to let Mara go on a power trip once in a while, don't I?"

Without Luke realizing it, they had begun to drift slowly over to the edge of the landing pad, slicing through the heavy curtain of heat with surprising ease.

"Right," Tara sighed. "She's plenty strong enough to make sure nobody anywhere does anything contrary to her ultimate rule."

"Let me guess, she's terrorizing the students again?"

"I believe I last saw Anakin trembling with fear in the corner of the common room after she caught him snoozing on the sofa," Tara replied with a delicately arched eyebrow, "and Jacen's barricaded himself in the kitchen with his pressure cooker."

Luke stopped her with a warm hand on the shoulder. "What about *_you*_, my dear? She hasn't surpassed her usual level of coolness towards you, has she?"

"Heat like this does strange things to people," Tara answered quietly, shuffling her toe against the ground. "Not to worry, Master Skywalker … Luke. I can handle this myself."

"She'll cheer up once Lilandra arrives. Needs a change of pace, I do believe," Luke said. 

"I'm counting on it," Tara smiled. "I'm hoping this summer will prove to be as interesting as the last, although perhaps a little less … eventful. I suppose you've noticed by now that the name Ilkhaine equates disaster?"

"You like Lilandra, don't you?" Luke asked, surprised. 

"Love her to bits," Tara said. "But she's so accident-prone! I should think that if I was in your position, I'd be dreading the sight of her ship entering the atmosphere, for fear that she might land _in_ the permacrete rather than on it."

Luke imagined this for a moment: Lilandra Ilkhaine, poster girl for both left-wing values and political calamity, crashing her ship nose-first into the cracked stones of the Academy landing pad. It was surprisingly easy to picture. Easier still to picture were the tabloid headlines that would succeed such an unprecedented (if amusing) disaster.

Ilkhaine was an interesting girl to say the least, if one was to base that assumption on the number of recent scorching tabloid investigations into her public and personal life. Far from being able to do no wrong, she was well loved at the Academy, and for the most part by her constituents, who had never been represented by such a colorful, honest, unashamed figure. But the newspapers had been all over her lately, and Luke was dying to ask her about the truth behind some of the wild speculations.

However, that was only one of the reasons he was anxious for the senator to arrive.

"Are you in the mood for a deep confession?" Luke asked Tara jocundly, resuming walking at a sleepy pace.

"Try me," she said. 

"I think I've learned to identify with Lilandra, instead of fearing her innate calamity. She reminds me of myself at her age – a refreshing change from Mara's intensity. Besides, you may deride her frivolous nature now, doc, but I do seem to recall something about the two of you spending much of last winter break running screaming up and down the corridors with Jaina and Anakin, flinging Jeru cakes or other foodstuffs at each other. No doubt there's a silly bone in you somewhere that appreciates it, Tara."

Tara sighed, smiling sheepishly at the memory. "I'd just like to point out that the great cake relay was all Anakin's idea. But I guess I'm having a hard time concentrating this morning, as well, through no fault of Mara's own."

Luke stopped abruptly, as they had reached the door to the temple. 

"That's odd," he commented wryly. "My feet have truly gotten ahead of my brain this morning."

"That's nothing unusual." Tara grinned. "I have to get back to work. I've been trying to coax Ani into a fun-filled round of chemical experimentation, with the provision that he doesn't blow up the sink again. I just thought I'd check on you," she added. 

"How thoughtful." Luke smiled through closed lips, and brushed his damp hair back off his forehead with one hand. "I suppose I should come inside and steal the reigns away from Mara for a while before she wreaks too much havoc."

Tara turned back to the landing pad for a moment, and glanced at the sky. "Don't bother. Our friend has arrived."

Luke turned warily, expecting that Tara was only playing with him, but no, sure enough, there *_was*_ a shuttle streaking towards the surface of the planet, shining blinding silver in the bright sunlight. Luke smiled broadly in spite of himself. 

Tara paused in the doorway, shielding her eyes from the sun as she gazed skyward, and then disappeared into the common room, announcing the arrival of the Ilkhaine shuttle. 

She reappeared a moment later, followed closely by the towering Mara Jade Skywalker and the diminutive Leia Organa-Solo, and there was such a contrast between the three that Luke had to laugh. They were a walking contradiction.

Mara was easily the tallest of them all and clad in a forest green, knee-length skirt and matching tunic, with a silver belt about her waist and a black band holding her vibrant red-gold hair back from her face, exposing a wry grin and glittery emerald eyes that epitomized sarcasm and exotic beauty in one startling package. 

Tara, with her willowy figure, often calculating gazes, and constantly evolving disposition was the Ego to Mara's Id. She had a temper that could rival even Mara's, but she was also a lot more pensive, a lot less impulsive, and reserved judgment only for when judgment was due, while Mara dispensed it with profligate efficiency. 

Leia, the den mother of the Academy, was short and slight, and her absolute, undiluted kindness shone in her reflective brown eyes. There was no pent-up resentment as with Mara, no burgeoning rage as often showed in Tara's calm expression, but a simplistic kind of wisdom gained through years of negotiating life – wisdom that Mara was far too impatient to acquire, and that Tara was still too young to understand. 

Luke slipped an arm around his wife's waist and the other about his sister's shoulders, and the group headed out onto the landing pad where the shuttle had just landed neatly and professionally, contrary to Tara's wary prediction.

Luke waited and watched expectantly and with some amusement as the passenger ramp descended from the cockpit door, only to become jammed halfway, and Lilandra Ilkhaine stepped into the bright summer sunshine in full dazed, dazzled, delighted Lilandra glory to stomp on it until it fitfully completed its trip to the ground.

She hadn't changed much in six months. She was tall, long-limbed and muscular, with a secretive grin that seemed to entreat its recipient to dive into her always-inviting hazel eyes and search her mind for the essence of triumph that put a spring in her step and a laugh in her voice. 

The stunned, wide-eyed expression of thinly disguised amusement she wore now as she pounded her heels insistently against the stubborn ramp drew attention to the pink, sunburned rim of skin just above her cheekbones, bridged by an elegant, regal nose. Long waves of dark blonde hair highlighted with gold fell about her shoulders, stilled and curled by the humid air hanging over the jungle. 

The ramp dealt with, she paused to gaze around her, enthralled by the scenery as usual, the grandeur and scope of her surroundings sufficiently pacifying her innate curiosity until her eyes finally came to rest on the group of her friends standing off to the side, whereupon she dropped the cloth bag she gripped in her hand and ran to them.

A childish squeal escaped her lips as she hurled herself first into Luke's waiting arms and then Tara's. 

"Oh my _*goodness*_, it's so good to _*see_* you!" she laughed, warmly taking Leia's hand with a great deal more dignity than she had exercised in tackling the woman's companions. This was, after all, her boss. 

"Long time no see, Lil," Leia said, abandoning formality and reaching up to embrace the girl. Lilandra smirked – the current Republican Senate had dismissed for the summer a bare four days ago, Gilad Pellaeon and his Imperial court taking over for the summer months. 

"I missed you all!" Lilandra exclaimed, laughing, and offered Mara a warm smile, which the woman returned with an amused glare, all raised eyebrows and smirking lips. 

Caught up in the midst of the ecstatic greeting, not one of them noticed Kerryna Occot's exit from the ship. 

Kerryna Occot, more than twice the age of her younger sister Lilandra, recently reunited with the same, five years redeemed from the fifteen she'd spent under the influence of the dark side but still bearing scars of the experience both visible and invisibly, like her artificial right hand and her new fear of the Jedi. 

The tall, thin, pale woman slipped quietly from the cockpit, carrying her own bag of belongings in the long-fingered grip of her good hand, and stood awkwardly at the base of the ramp, watching the scene unfold. 

The sight of her younger sister hopping excitedly from foot to foot, radiating energy and life and joy, amazed as always at the prospect of life in general brought a smile to Kerryna's lips as she sighed quietly. The sisters may have had the same luminescent hazel eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. 

Kerryna was more serene, more subdued than the flighty, giggly, giddy Lilandra. She was less given to fits of temper and sudden bursts of affection like her more volatile, and, all things told, more immature younger sister. She had a look of guarded, careful concentration about her that was evident in the set of her narrow shoulders and the oddly graceful slant of her long strides, and the way that she never seemed to see the scenery around her. Rather, she was fixated with the people present in her situation, focusing all her attention on reading their emotions, secretly searching their brains for either empathy or hatred … usually expecting the latter.

Timidly, she approached the group.

Even though she was just a Jedi, and harmless without her former dark powers, no one was entirely sure how to treat her or how to act around her. Hence, they usually just ignored her. Her outward face appeared completely unaffected, gracious in defeat – she was always friendly, always cordial: simply perfect.

Deep inside, she was seething.

"Hey, everyone," she said quietly, sheepishly. She waved, though for naught. No one saw. 

The others turned to put a face to the familiar throaty growl, and smiled kindly, but there was pity in all their eyes, save for Lilandra's. Mara didn't even bother to smile, but scowled at the former Sith lord like she was yesterday's waste.

Kerryna didn't expect any kindness from Mara Skywalker. She clearly remembered the tortures she'd administered to the physically less powerful Mara, who, for all her bravado, had succumbed almost instantly to the pain, though what she lacked in endurance, she made up for in hatred. That was just the last time they'd met, five years ago.

The most powerful drug of all being power itself, the two women had naturally clashed at their very first meeting. At ten and fourteen years old respectively, they had both been the treasured possessions of the Emperor Palpatine; they had been raised on rivalry and taught to hate all and trust none – not even each other. 

Thus, when Mara had overcome the darkness of her past with Luke's help, Kerryna's jealousy exploded with a terrifying ferocity. Indoctrinated to serve her Emperor, long dead though he was, she devoted herself to either restoring Mara's previous violent tendencies or outright murdering the woman should she refuse to return to the dark side – the unhappy situation in which both women had found themselves half a decade before. 

Kerryna had, in relinquishing her dark powers, subdued her jealousy of Mara's inscrutable sense of self to admiration, but it was understandably difficult for Mara to accept this. She had come out of the whole ordeal several pounds lighter, with numerous broken ribs, a severe concussion, a broken wrist, a dislocated shoulder, and a bad cold. Small consideration had been given to Kerryna's lost right hand, severed off at the wrist with her own lightsaber, wielded inexpertly by a twenty-one-year-old Lilandra. The incident was rarely mentioned, though. It was not her body that anyone cared about. It was the color of the soul beneath. 

Kerryna caught Luke looking at her, and grinned halfheartedly. His seeming admiration for her puzzled her greatly. She had expected – given what she had done to his wife – that he would not speak to her for the next millennium or so, but he was outwardly generous with his conversation and his forgiveness. She appreciated it, though she didn't yet trust it.

As for the others, their own involvement in the conflict of Kerryna's fault had left them predictably wary. It was far safer to just stay quiet, and meek, and subservient for a while, and give the memories a chance to subside. Perhaps in another ten years or so, it would be worth the effort.

An awkward silence hung like a curtain around the group for a long, painful moment until reliable, diplomatic Lilandra broke it. 

"Well … why don't we go inside and talk?" she suggested brightly, fanning herself with her hand. "Feels a bit too much like summer out here for my liking!"

Kerryna laughed, a joyful, relieved laugh that the uncomfortable moment had ended and the onus to proceed had been taken off of her, and they all headed back into the welcoming, dry coolness of the temple.

  


***

Later that evening, Luke, Lilandra, and Mara sat on blankets on the roof of the temple, talking and enjoying mugs of hot chocolate, the kind with extra milky foam bubbling over the lip of the cups. The warmth of the twilight enfolded Lilandra in a comforting hug, and she took a deep breath, absorbing the heady aromas of the jungle. The scent of the hot chocolate, the damp soil, and the exotic jungle flowers all vied for control of her senses, and she felt ready to slip into a deep, relaxed sleep. Luke kept her awake with his chatter, however.

He was, as usual, full of questions about her recent duties, and seemed to find her stories about the difficult people she'd encountered and the remarkable things she'd witnessed terribly fascinating, and even Mara, who was chilly at best as far as Lilandra was concerned, had to admit that the young woman had a knack for turning a tale. 

Perhaps it was because she involved the whole of her body in her story-telling – everything, from the incline of her head, to the set of her shoulders, to the pictures she drew with her hands seemed to contribute subtle nuances to the experience of having Lilandra Ilkhaine talk at you (for she rarely made small talk, preferring to relate complicated, rambling epics that left little room for comment but much for imagination). 

So it was that, as the warm beverages were consumed, and the blankets were in turn wrapped around shoulders to ward off the pleasant nip of the jungle night, Lilandra ran out of stories, and Mara fell asleep with her head back against the railing of the roof stairs, snoring challengingly, as though daring someone to try and wake her. 

After a few content moments' silence save for Mara's snores, Luke stood, collecting the empty mugs in one hand and his catatonic wife in the other, and headed down the roof stairs, promising a quick return. 

And, for the first time all day, Lilandra Ilkhaine was left by herself, with only her thoughts for company. 

Still smiling the remnants of the beam she'd worn throughout the recounting of her last saga, she lay back on the dusty stones and stared up at the sky.

There were so many stars visible here, and they wrapped the sky in thick bands of pale, twinkling light, as though the arms of the universe itself were cradling the tiny moon as it lay in the deep hush of sleep. The skyscape on Coruscant was nowhere near this dazzling. Too many neon lights and curling plumes of steam and exhaust vied for control of the sky, not to mention the odd six-hundred-floor skyscraper jutting intrusively into the scene. The only place she could think of where the view was so perfectly unobstructed was on Chad III, where she had grown up. 

Out on the ocean, stars above and water below, it was easy to feel transient, yet trapped between two universal commons of boundless depth and mystery, unsure of the reality of your own fragile shell, but blissfully certain of the permanence of the sweeping realm that surrounded you. To lie here and drift between two alternate spaces of consciousness was happily reminiscent of the nights of her childhood, when all she'd needed was a wooden dock, a blanket, and the vast, impossible depths of her imagination. She sighed contentedly in spite of herself.

"It's good to be home," she whispered to the empty air. The academy always felt like home to her, because she knew that if there was one place in the galaxy she could go for reassurance and comfort and companionship, it was here. Leia's family had become as her own, a proxy for the two families she felt she hadn't known nearly long enough. Both the Occots, to whom she owed her nature, and the Ilkhaines, to whom she owed her nurture, had been murdered at key points during her sister's imaginary reign of the Empire and Lilandra's short childhood. 

Kerryna.

Difficult though it was to separate herself from her moment of inner epiphany, Lilandra reflected on her sister's self-imposed isolation. 

First point of contention: she barely talked anymore, for fear of saying the wrong thing. Even her natural movements were halting, cautious, as though she worried that some might view them as suspicious. 

Lilandra couldn't imagine what it must be like to be her sister, to live every day as though simply living were an effort. She understood the wariness of her friends towards the woman – she had conspired to destroy their carefully constructed world once upon a time, and nearly succeeded. 

Such was an easy task for Kerryna, who knew even under the illustrious and once-privileged influence of the dark side what it was like to live under a patchwork quilt of deception, misdemeanors, and empty promises. She used her personal knowledge of the hard-knock way of life to greatly injure the fragile bodies and souls of Luke, Mara, Leia, and company. In a way, the scars were still tender, and Lilandra supposed that that was why Kerryna lived under such scrutiny. One mistaken remark from her sister, and the barely sutured wounds from the past five years would be torn anew. When she considered it that way, she didn't blame Kerryna for clamming up.

But on the other hand, by making no attempt to remedy the situation, Kerryna was only enclosing herself in a shell of guilt and an obligation to everyone else's inner peace she felt she had to fulfill – the position she'd been in when she'd first fallen to the dark side. She was the type of person who loved to please everyone, much like Lilandra herself, but had never had much success at it. 

She seemed to be moving backwards in her healing with the unspoken melancholy she'd slipped into, even while rebuilding her shattered reputation upon her homeworld. It worried Lilandra. Kerryna needed someone to talk to about everything she'd been through, someone besides her sister. Lilandra could reassure her, but she couldn't understand, and that was what Kerryna needed most: someone who could and would understand her. 

Someone, perhaps, who had known her _before_ her years of darkness, but Kerryna had never spoken of anyone, like a friend, who would have access to her previous thoughts, the hopes and dreams of a teenager. If any such person had ever even existed, they were likely dead, or had put Kerryna so far out of their mind that they would barely remember her face, let alone her secrets and ambitions. 

Lilandra's thoughts were interrupted by Luke's return. She turned to look up at him as he sat back down on the blanket.

"Sleeping like a baby," he sighed.

There was emotion in his voice, but Lilandra couldn't tell exactly what it was. Luke's relationship with his wife had become stranger and stranger since the birth of their children, although no less passionate.

"Where exactly *_are*_ Tanya and Nathen?" Lilandra asked, suddenly recalling the lack of joyful, disjointed baby chatter and the pattering of small socked feet on the metal floors as she'd walked through the halls of the academy that afternoon, reacquainting herself with her guest quarters, the labyrinthine corridors, Tara and Anakin's shared laboratory, the lounge and dining rooms, and all the familiar places of significance she'd come to know over the past five years. 

Ordinarily, the twins would've been chasing after her, testing the strength of their own baby legs, grabbing at the low hem of her shirt, screaming her name across echoing brick chambers and hiding in shadowy corners and singing nonsensical songs. Being children.

Luke looked at her, appearing extremely tired.

"They're on Coruscant … at some fancy preschool that Mara picked out. I wanted to keep them here and educate them like Jedi, but she thought they should learn useful skills first. We fought about it for weeks – you can't possibly understand." He stopped, lowering his head. "We haven't really been the same since, and they've been gone for three months. I tried so hard to tell her that it's our job as their parents to teach them the useful things, but she … just couldn't see it that way."

"I see," Lilandra said, gathering her hair into a knot at the back of her neck and promptly releasing it in a gesture of pure habit. Then, she added, "You miss them, don't you?"

"Like hell," Luke admitted. "I miss witnessing their simultaneous passage through phases, and listening to their made-up language, and negotiating bedtimes just for the heck of it, even though they're clearly exhausted … you know, being their daddy."

Lil smiled. In the one or two times she'd spent long periods of time with the twins, she found she could already identify with Luke's sadness. Curly-haired Tanya was an energetic, squeaky-voiced firecracker, whip-smart and with a sense of humor all her own. Gentle, sensitive Nathen was the cuddly one, the child who treated every adult with equal admiration and was fond of imparting his wisdom concerning his sister's antics upon those adults. Together, they were an institution – never one without the other, only parts of a dynamic whole that reflected completely their parents' very different life philosophies. One couldn't help but feel the emptiness that reigned without their disarming double presences.

"I understand. It's truly not the same without them," Lilandra said.

"No, and once again, I feel like Mara and I have reached sort of a precarious point in our marriage. You can imagine the kinds of issues that would surface once you start realizing how mismatched your feelings about parenthood are. The sad thing is, she never really wanted them in the first place, not one, and especially not two."

"Oh, Luke, don't say that. You know she loves them."

"In her own special way, yes," said Luke dryly, prompting a wry smirk from the senator.

"So the past three months haven't been the happiest, I gather," she sighed, and Luke shook his head sadly.

"Not by any approximation. There's Mara, and the kids, and … and me …"

He trailed off, peering out through the safety bars across the jungle and then back at Lilandra, his eyes weighted.

Lilandra glanced sidelong at him, though he quickly evaded her gaze, preferring to stare down at his sandaled feet instead with an expression that was intended to be unreadable, but that merely came off as indescribable. 

In that instant, Lilandra felt her sleepy subconscious zooming back into focus, the strange telepathic senses that resided there pulling her exhausted conscious towards the guarded contents of her mentor's equally thought-sensitive mind. She felt herself mentally diving into his head, rummaging through vast, invisible warehouses of information, searching for the emotion behind his logic in the strange way that only a Jedi can. 

Luke sensed her mental fingers probing the darker places of his subconscious, and glanced at her, perhaps to make it easier for her to find what she was looking for. The depth of feeling in his eyes – feeling that strangely surpassed anything he could possibly feel for even his children – caught her off-guard, though, and she withdrew. It was not the pain of missing his own flesh and blood that she observed there, but the pain of missing an even greater part of himself that appeared to render him a torn man in her eyes. His expression left her feeling empty, confused, disoriented … perhaps as a shadow of what she was able to extract from his own feelings at that moment. 

"Luke … good gracious." Lilandra's eyebrows furrowed, and she leaned in closer towards him. "What's the matter?"

She had caught something in his gaze that she had not seen for a very long time … not since Kerryna's time, when every passing minute gave him fresh cause to worry for Mara's welfare. 

She went out on a limb. "Mara – she's not … talking of splitting up again, is she?"

"Why is that the first thing you thought of?" Luke replied at last. The haunted look vanished, and an admonishing grin appeared in its place. 

Lilandra stared at him quizzically. "First impressions are indelible, Master Skywalker," she grinned. "I seem to have a vague memory of five years ago of you sitting beside me in the _Falcon_ bemoaning the fact that you'd gone and chucked your wedding ring into the ocean – "

"I didn't _chuck_ it!" Luke interrupted in protest. "I _dropped _it."

Lilandra smiled sympathetically. "Okay. But anyway, there you were, warming up the lightsabers for battle and worrying about a gold band that was probably Krakana fodder by then …"

"Is this supposed to be comforting?" Luke asked.

"If it had the intended purpose of reminding you that your bond with Mara is stronger than two rings, yes."

Luke declined response, but simply made a noise of reluctant assent in his throat. 

"But who's to say my first guess is the right one, anyway?" Lilandra countered, inching closer to him. "Tell me what's really wrong."

Luke narrowed his eyes at her. "There should be restrictions placed on when Jedi are allowed to read people's minds. You bring that up the next time you're in committee, Senator."

Lilandra feigned shock. "I'm playing the part of the concerned friend, here!"

"I don't think you'd understand," Luke replied. "You're too young."

"Oh, come on. I thought turning eighteen automatically put a prohibition on me ever having to hear those words again," Lilandra said. "You know you want to tell me … you just don't know how."

She knew she'd gotten him with those words. 

"You're very persuasive, you know," he said quietly.

"I'm not in my chosen field for nothing," she murmured back. "Tell me."

Luke sighed, shifting his weight forward so that he could talk quietly and still have her hear him. 

"Do you know, Lilandra, why I was so looking forward to your visit?"

She sensed that he didn't require an answer for this particular question – it seemed to be more of a lead-in to whatever tragic Skywalker wisdom he was about to impart to her. 

"No. Why?" she asked, pleased, leaning back against the wall.

"Because you're a distraction."

Lilandra nodded, blinking. "I get the sense that that was meant to be a compliment, but certainly one of the strangest I've received in a long time."

"Are you complaining?" Luke asked coquettishly.

"Nope. It sure beats 'Hey, beautiful, your father must've been a thief, 'cause he stole the stars and put them in your eyes'."

"Oh, because I'm sure you get that all the time," Luke said roguishly, then thought more carefully. "Actually, if I'm to judge you by your terrific representation in the journalistic world, then I'm actually inclined to believe you."

Lilandra laughed and shook her head. "I was wondering when you'd get around to asking me about that."

Luke assembled his best impression of one of his nieces in gossip mode, dropping his voice to an eager whisper. "Is any of it true?"

Lilandra waved the question away with her hand, but colored noticeably. "Most of those alleged 'secret romances' are just colleagues of mine who happen to be inordinately good-looking and travel everywhere in hoverlimos with tinted windows. But back to you, please – I'm proving to be more of a distraction than is absolutely necessary right now. Could you tell me why I should be flattered by your strange assessment of me?"

Luke thought for a moment, presumably about how to phrase his explanation. 

"Because," he said, "you get my mind off of the worry."

"And what are you worried about?" Lilandra asked flippantly.

"Life."

Lilandra waited. 

"Call it a midlife crisis, but lately I've found myself dreading my job and craving change."

"So? We all have our off-days," Lilandra shrugged. 

"Yeah, but unlike you, I can't just call in sick or have someone represent me in the Senate. A hundred students at this academy depend on me to prepare them for a threat they'll likely never face but fear just the same. I don't mean to sound egotistical with this, but they depend on me to reassure them of their own skills, and their abilities, and the power of their vigilance. But lately the fear has begun to rub off on me."

"What do you mean?" Lilandra asked.

Luke pressed his fingertips together, feeling points of bone rounded by calloused skin. "I mean I've begun dreading the day that one of my students asks me a question I don't have an answer for." He paused for effect. 

"Ever since we redeemed Kerryna, I've felt a change in the times. In the old days, it was easy. There was an understanding of the war that was going on, and everybody was clear on their purpose, their duty, and the ramifications of that duty. If someone asked us to write a thesis on our life's ambition, we'd all have handed in the same paper, practically titled 'All I Want for Life Day is to Defeat the Empire', you know? Now, the threats to the Jedi aren't so clear. The fact is, there aren't any at the present time; at least, none that we know about. You governmental types have taken over and ensured that all I have to do is keep my students in good physical shape and make sure they know their alphabets."

"You sound so bitter," Lilandra commented. 

"I don't mean to be," Luke sighed, his tone softening just a little. "I just feel that I've fallen into a rut. I don't know how many times I can tell the same story before the charm wears off and my students start looking for something more. I don't even have my children around to teach, two little minds who aren't even aware of their power. Even *_I've_* stopped learning from the teachings of the Jedi."

"So what's the problem? Take this opportunity to retire in luxury if that's what floats your landspeeder," Lilandra suggested.

"It's not that simple in my mind," Luke disagreed. "You know me – I hate not having a purpose. I would love to be able to say that I have more tricks up my sleeve, that I can turn this around and make life into an adventure again, but the truth is, I don't, I can't. I sit around the academy while the abilities of my students plateau at the same level as mine, and I find myself incapable of encouraging growth in anyone, even myself."

He paused, gazing fitfully beyond the railing of the stairs to where the heaped canopy concealed the wild realm beneath, grasping at a single phrase that would explain all his complicated feelings at once.

"I suppose I've stopped believing in the current necessity for Jedi," he said at last. "And I just don't know what to make of it."

Lilandra considered this at length, realizing that she had never really given much thought to her unique position as one of the only Force-sensitive representatives of the galactic government. It was one of those things that she just took for granted, she guessed – she was more concerned with playing fair than using her accelerated sensory capacities to her own unlawful advantage, and consequently her abilities went frequently unused. It was likely that Leia, as the Chief of State, felt similarly, but that was why she routinely made time to visit the academy, if only to keep her powers in form. 

Still, the politicians' hesitance to involve the Force and the teachings of the Jedi in their own daily rites didn't necessarily mean that there was no need at _all_ for Jedi. Surely they must have their uses in peacetime as well as war …

Lilandra pointed this out to Luke, who sighed heavily, leaning back on the railing and looking up at the same stars Lilandra had admired not a half an hour before. 

"Answer me this honestly, Lilandra. As a representative of the government, one who always has her finger on the pulse of current events and conflicts, and one who admitted herself just an hour ago that serious threats to the peace have been virtually nonexistent for the past half a decade: Do you *_really_* believe that there is a future for the Jedi?"

For perhaps the first time in her life, Lilandra was silenced by a question that she didn't have an answer for. 


	2. The Rogue Planet

~2~

Rogue Planet

  


Later, in the still heat of a typical Yavin night colored a milky blue by the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains hanging at his apartment window, Luke tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Mara's deep, peaceful slumber annoyed him. There was something frustrating about the goofy half-smile playing about her lips and the way her eyelids fluttered slightly as she roamed an internal world that only she could see. Cuddled in the crook of his arm, clutching the corner of the quilt in her loosely clenched fist, she reminded him more of a child than a woman. Her sleep was always the sleep of the undisturbed – her perception of the academy as all the kingdom she would ever want to rule made it so. So long as things remained under her control, like the blankets she gripped unwittingly as she sought the unseen in her vast dream worlds, she would be perfectly happy. 

Luke had been thus unable to bring himself to tell her about his recent feelings about the Academy, knowing all too well that her reaction would be a typically Mara one. He could just see her, tossing off one of her concise cure-alls as she wrapped her arms cloyingly around his shoulders. "So read a book, lover. You're too sweet to have to worry your pretty little head."

Easy for her to say, this woman who was still able to open herself to him only in darkness with sleepy, mumbled disconnections and dreamy smiles and almost childlike need for the warmth of human contact before drifting away. The future of the Jedi was like her babies – lightyears away. Out of sight, out of mind, graciously beyond her control.

Lilandra hadn't really been able to offer him any viable solutions to his problems either, but he appreciated that she had been keen to listen, even if she couldn't possibly understand. Mara was never one for lengthy discussion, preferring to take immediate action against anything that might challenge her ideals. Lilandra, as a politician, was understandably more talented in the negotiation department, and she actually seemed to enjoy talking things over at great length. More than once he had simply presumed that she liked the sound of her own voice, since sometimes the words it formed were too naïve or idealistic to be believed. 

Still, as unrealistic as she could sometimes be, he should've known better than to assume that she would just let his admission slip by her unanalyzed. 

He thought this almost at the same time as a soft knock came at the door to his apartment. 

He didn't need to wonder who in the galaxy would be still up at this time of night. 

_ *The only other occasional insomniac in this academy,* _he thought, bemusedly sliding out from between the covers.

Crossing the room to the hallway, he unlocked and pushed the door aside, and nearly collided with Lilandra on the threshold. 

"Couldn't stay away?" he muttered hoarsely, attempting a grin and failing. 

"Shh," she murmured, and brought a finger to her lips. "Come with me."

He closed the door softly behind him, and followed Lilandra down the darkened hallway. He noticed that she was fully dressed in light gray pants, a dark blue shirt and string vest, and chunky flight boots, whereas Luke was only wearing his nightclothes: a sleeveless shirt and shorts.

"What is this all about?" he asked, trailing her through the maze of familiar corridors, lit eerily by blue phosphorescent globes hung at regular intervals along the walls. 

"No questions yet," she said teasingly, veering towards the hangar bay exit. "Wouldn't want to wake the temple now, would we?"

Luke shut his mouth, warily attempting to disregard the strangeness of the situation, and followed his friend out the smaller personnel door built into the hangar bay door, over the now-cooled stones of the landing pad, and into the jungle foliage. Once he felt the spongy, moist dirt beneath his feet, Lilandra stopped him.

"Okay, now we can talk," she said.

"Whatever it is, you should've mentioned it earlier," Luke countered, yawning. Now that he was out of his room and on his feet, he felt tired enough to drift off again. This annoyed him vaguely. 

"Listen carefully," Lilandra began, still talking in a hush, as if afraid of stirring some sleeping jungle creature. There was a hint of excitement in her voice. "I was thinking, Luke, about that question you asked me tonight."

"Naturally," Luke said dryly, crossing his arms. "And you've thought of a sassy answer, no doubt."

"Not quite," she corrected him, raising her index finger. "But I've thought of somewhere we might go to find an answer. An unbiased, perfect, correct answer – "

"Lilandra," Luke interrupted, before she could launch into one of her long, insightful ramblings. "I appreciate the trouble you've evidently put yourself through on my behalf, but can't this wait until tomorrow morning?"

"No," she said firmly. "It's not that there are no more opportunities for adventure nowadays; you've just forgotten how to seek them out. Don't you know that even the most ridiculous of ideas seem fantastically logical in the twilight? Don't deny me the opportunity to feel brilliant, now!"

Luke had to smile at the mysterious quality of her words. She was in one of her inspired moods. 

"Now, listen to me. I've studied my fair share of Jedi history since I met you, and it's not exactly light reading, so understandably I only just skimmed the texts."

Luke chuckled, shaking his head. As if that excused Lilandra's hasty treatment of centuries of history.

"But," she continued, grinning also, "I remember reading something a couple of years back about a temple. On this planet. The historians believe it was built by the Masassi, and that it was used by the earliest Jedi as a source of inspiration and wisdom."

"How?" Luke asked. "Prayer? Meditation? Pilgrimage? All of the above?"

"I'm not exactly sure. They claim that there is a lake contained within the temple that connects the surface to the very core of this planet." Lilandra's face broke into a wide, eager smile. "The neatest part was that apparently, if you can stand to open your eyes beneath the surface of the sulfurous water, you find yourself surrounded by a map of sorts. Of the galaxy. Surely you must have heard of this temple before, Luke?"

Luke's heart leapt. Now that he thought about it, he _*had* _come across it numerous times in the various texts he and his fellows taught from. 

"I know of it," he said. "The books called it the _Te'am Galatsia _or–"

" – The Temple of the Galaxy," Lilandra finished excitedly. "You know where it is, then!"

"I imagine it shouldn't be too difficult to find. I used to teach about it all the time back in the early days of the Academy. I suppose it never really crossed my mind because I'm not sure I understand how this is supposed to restore my sense of purpose, or show me a means to the future of the Jedi."

Lilandra thought for a moment, then cocked her head to the side, gazing up at him. "Perhaps, if nothing else, it will remind you of your singularity in this galaxy, Master Skywalker."

Luke actually found himself blushing at her words. 

"Besides, I thought maybe a midnight swim would do your circulation some good."

  


***

  


The pair wandered through the underbrush, silent for the time being, their feet snagging in the thick moss and lichens that grew along the surface. Luke kept his eyes turned cautiously to the ground, watching for sinkholes and gnarled tree roots, while Lilandra gazed rapturously up at Yavin's twin moons, which lit a dewy path for them through the trees. Light was dappled along the muddy rainforest floor in the ever-shifting pattern of the broad canopy leaves hundreds of feet above their heads. Every so often, they would reach a rocky clearing, and the slice of starry sky that greeted her eyes would momentarily dazzle Lilandra. Then, they would enter the trees again, and it would be back to slipping on damp grasses, looking every which way for another glimpse of paradise. 

Lilandra found her heart beating faster as they ventured further into the forest. She knew they were definitely nearing their destination by the pounding of her awareness-charged blood cells in her palms and between her shoulder blades. And then, they broke through a thick cluster of hedges into another cleared stone plateau, and the temple – smaller by far than the great temple, but no less wondrous – appeared, silhouetted by the brilliant round sphere of the moons hanging low behind it.

Lilandra and Luke exchanged a nervous glance, neither one entirely sure of how to proceed. 

"Lil, don't you think there's a chance you might have misinterpreted the history texts? You did say you just skimmed them, after all," Luke murmured. "My understanding is that the Temple of the Galaxy was created for the further study of astronomy, not as a means of resolving a lowly Jedi's crisis of faith."

"Do you really believe that though, Luke?" Lilandra asked, placing her hand on his broad back and steering him toward the crumbling stone entrance to the temple. "Inspiring things come in humble packages."

Luke paused before the doorway, dubiously examining the clumsy architecture of the temple. A pyramid in concept, one of the sloping sides appeared steeper than the one opposite it, giving the front of the structure a curiously lopsided look. The temple was constructed from blocks of the same yellow sandstone as the great temple, but this temple had not been as well maintained over the years. Moss and vines had begun to creep up along the doorway and the bottommost portion of the building, and the slightly off-center peak of the pyramid had been lopped off, presumably by years of weathering. The sides were deeply pitted, worn away by the acidic remains of bird droppings, and clearly the long-ago Battle of Yavin had reached even this far into the jungle: the gray stone border of the entrance arch was scored with the long black scars of wayward blaster fire. 

"Inspiring things come in humble packages," Luke repeated doubtfully, and proceeded forth through the archway into the temple. There was a disbelieving pause.

Lilandra giggled. "When will you learn that I'm never wrong?"

Contrary to its unassuming exterior, the inside of the Temple of the Galaxy seemed much larger, almost cavernous, and the respect that the place must have garnered in the time of its use was plainly obvious. 

The inwardly sloping walls of the pyramid were every inch covered with the intricately carved tellings of a thousand fabulous stories, the stories of a people long extinct. 

Awed, Lilandra traced the roughly hewn lines of a particularly detailed tale that surrounded the arch of the doorway. Whoever had immortalized the story had been a talented artist, though they had carved in the minimalist style common to most ancient runes. Long-legged, willowy figures, both male and female, danced across the walls, lent an eerie, fluid motion by the rippling reflection of the moonlit lake contained inexplicably within the temple. 

Lilandra recognized a few of the other symbols: fire, represented by elegant, broad curls of flame and smoke that appeared to flicker as if by magic in the half-light; the moons of Yavin, even their craters carved to perfection as though the artist had placed the satellites on a pedestal to copy as he'd worked; and, much to Lilandra's delight, what appeared to be several bars of music. In the reverent silence of the temple, distant voices seemed to echo across the room, raised in joyous abandon. 

Alongside the familiar carvings were ones of a more cryptic nature: two braided circles, intertwined and inscribed with the elegant, rounded runes of a long-forgotten language; an upended oblong shape with two diamond points gouging a small valley in its center, and others. Examining the carvings quizzically, Lilandra realized that she was looking at a depiction of a very ancient, very happy occasion: a wedding feast. The circles were the wedding bands, and the runes inside them were the names of the newly consecrated lovers. 

"Fantastic," she breathed, tracing one of the circles with her index finger. In response, she felt a small flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach, as if experiencing for herself the anticipation of the new bride immortalized there. She cast a glance over her shoulder. 

Luke, instead of drinking in the human details depicted on the walls, was deeply engrossed with the most fantastic aspect of the temple's interior: the famed Lake of the Galaxy. 

Contained within a stone border, upon which Lilandra stood and Luke knelt at the water's edge, it seemed to drop straight down into nothingness, a bottomless pool. The water shone black, and though the surface was barely dimpled with small wind-borne ripples, there was a sound like the sighing of ocean waves heard in a seashell faintly audible in the room. 

"I don't know what to make of it!" Luke exclaimed softly, sensing Lilandra's approach from 

behind. "It's … fantastic! Impossible!"

"Nothing's impossible. Surely you should know that by now," Lilandra replied, helping him to his feet. "What do you say? Shall we have a look inside the lake?"

"It seems safe enough for swimming … my hand didn't sizzle off when I dipped my fingers into it …"

"It just smells funny," Lilandra commented. 

"Sulfur," Luke said knowledgably. "Like rotten eggs, right?"

"Yes. Must be the gases rising up from the core."

Luke glanced at her. "Do you really believe what legend says? That this lake actually reaches down to the planetary core?"

"Well …" Lilandra hesitated. It did sound slightly farfetched. "Maybe not _*all*_ the way down. It seems likely that it might be connected to a series of caves or something far beneath the crust, but not actually extending to the molten core. It may just be a spring. "

"I'm more inclined to say it's volcanic," Luke said. "The terrain just south of here is dotted with low craters, and the water's fairly cool … perhaps this lake is the only thing keeping the magma layer sealed off. What do you think?"

"Why are you asking me?" Lilandra shrugged. "I'd rather remain blissfully unaware of the fact that my local swimming hole could erupt in a fiery inferno at any second."

Luke chuckled and patted her shoulder. He was feeling much more energetic now. He couldn't exactly pinpoint the feeling of nervous excitement he was experiencing, but it might have had something to do with his sudden intense desire to know what secrets lay beneath the innocuous surface of the lake. He looked sidelong at Lilandra – she was already pulling off her shoes and socks. 

"Going to take the plunge, so to speak?" Luke asked as Lilandra struggled out of her vest and threw it to one side.

"Going down!" she exclaimed, positioning herself on the ledge in a neat diver's stance. Then, springing forward from her knees, she pushed through the still night air with a childish whoop and vanished beneath the water with an almighty splash. Moments later, her head cleared the surface, along with two hands to wipe away the strands of wet hair that were plastered to her face. 

"Do you often go swimming fully clothed?" Luke called teasingly. 

"Only when you're in the room," she replied. "Besides, I hear it's highly aerobically effective. Come on in, the water's lovely."

She turned gracefully onto her back and kicked off from the wall, cutting smoothly through the water like a strange, ethereal glider. Her burnished face shone with barely contained excitement as she stared, amazed, up at the carvings that bedecked the peak of the pyramid. 

Luke found enjoyment in watching the varying looks of wonderment and awe that fought for control of her angular features. _*This is a girl who could wander a storm drain and still be moved by its beauty,* _he mused as he dipped a toe into the water to test how his body would handle the temperature. 

Lilandra saw this and laughed mockingly. 

"Come on, don't be such a schoolgirl!" 

"That's it, Ilkhaine – your time has come!" Luke roared, and took the ledge at a run, tucking his knees up to his stomach as he hit the water. Lilandra squealed and ducked her head beneath to avoid the wash as Luke disappeared, replaced by a massive circular wake. Seconds passed, ten, twenty, with no sign of Luke.

Lilandra surfaced, breathless, scanning the lake for a shadow, a ripple, but there was nothing …

Until something grabbed her ankles from beneath, pulling her down. Her scream of shock was cut off by the sudden flow of slightly tangy water into her trachea. She clawed desperately for the surface, kicking aside whatever had grabbed her, and emerged, gasping, to face a laughing Skywalker. 

"All right there, Lil?" Luke asked, wiping rivulets of water from his forehead. His thin hair was plastered to his head like a blond blast helmet.

Lilandra half giggled, half choked, giving her head a shake. "Don't do that!" she admonished him breathlessly. Her throat stung slightly, and her pulse had quickened a fair bit, but she was mostly unharmed by his prank. "Remember, we're here for business."

Luke mock-frowned. "Aren't we the serious one?" he scoffed. "Alright then. Let's do what we came for."

He drew a long breath, preparing to push himself back beneath the water, but Lilandra stopped him.

"Wait," she said quietly. "The moment has to be perfect."

"What's 'perfect'?" Luke challenged, though he dropped his voice to a whisper to mimic hers. 

"Let the waves die away. We can't be flailing around all over the place. We have to put ourselves in the mindset of the people who worshipped this place in the ancient times. When they were here, they were here to seek inspiration and comfort, as are you. Prepare yourself."

Luke thought for a moment, mostly about how to think like Lilandra, who seemed to have gotten the hang of this reverence stuff already – she was floating on her back, her eyes closed, presumably concentrating on relaxing her body and mind, almost as if preparing for an extended period of Jedi meditation. 

"They really understood what works best for the body and soul," Lilandra murmured, suddenly in tune with Luke's thoughts. "What do you expect to find beneath the lake?"

"Water," Luke replied honestly.

"No," Lilandra said, and repeated, more deliberately this time,"_*what do you expect to find beneath the lake*?_"

It was as if a light bulb had clicked on inside his brain, and before he could even think about his response, he had spoken: "I expect to find answers."

Lilandra smiled at him across the distance she had already drifted, and paddled carefully over to him, stirring the water as little as possible. 

"Okay," she said. "Now's a good time."

Taking each other's hands, they faced each other as they drew breath, and kicked down into the unknown depths of the Galaxy Lake. 

Beneath the water, Luke could feel the movement of waves against his skin, and he felt a wonderful, soothing impression of cool surging through his veins. Immediately, his shoulders relaxed, and his fingers fell limp in Lilandra's grip. He did not begin floating towards the surface as he normally would, and surprisingly, holding his breath was not a labor. He was suspended in place by whatever magical force had sensed his presence there in the lake. 

Spinning slowly, he felt mentally for Lilandra's own mind so that they could communicate. He could feel her, a short distance away, still loosely grasping his wrist, and could sense her astonishment at the impossible power holding her stationary in the water. 

_*Lil*,_ he thought to her. _*Can you hear me?*_

_ *Loud and clear,* _came her response. _*Have you opened your eyes yet?*_

_ *No,*_ Luke replied. _*I was waiting for you first.*_

_ *Open them,*_ she thought to him, and her inner voice sounded dazed, entranced by something he couldn't yet see. 

Eager to see what she saw, Luke spread his arms, leaning into the suspension around him, and opened his eyes. The sight that greeted his eyes caused him to gasp, sucking bitter water into his mouth, but he held it there, disbelieving and yet strangely moved.

Laid out around him, in perfect focus, scale, and with finite accuracy, was the galaxy itself. Millions upon millions of known and unknown planets, stars, nebulas, and black holes swam in his vision, held not, it seemed, in water, but in life. 

Luke reached out his hand, passing his fingers through the closest star to him, and was almost disappointed to find that it was just that – a vision – no more real than the similar images in the library archives in the Great Temple itself. 

Yet there was something more special about this representation of their vast expanse of space and time … something more alive. The way the stars flickered, as though showing the clouds of vapor and gas leaping from their unfathomably hot surfaces at that exact moment as Luke floated there, bewitched. The planets spun in their orbits in thousands of solar systems, just as the whole mass circled slowly around Luke and Lilandra, the locus in the center of the galaxy. 

Luke's heart began to pound as familiar worlds jumped out at him, colored as in life in the shades of their environments: the forbidding, pale brown mesas of Tatooine, a sandstorm tearing across its northern hemisphere; the brilliant emerald spheres of Endor and Wayland and the moon of Yavin 4; the muddied hurricane blue of Dagobah, and the vast expanses of turquoise seas that comprised the worlds of Chad III and Mon Calamari. 

_*Luke!*_ shouted Lilandra, suddenly clearing the fog that had formed in Luke's mind as he'd drifted there, drinking it all in, in all its scope and miraculous grandeur. _*I had no idea! What … what a big place we inhabit …*_

_ *It's fantastic,*_ Luke agreed, leaning into the vision and slowly easing his way among the stars. He recognized places and their odd significances as he went. _*Look,*_ he said, _*there's Nirauan, where I first proposed to Mara, and Corellia, where Han's from … Bespin – I …I met my father there for the first time … Dathomir … Nam Chorios …*_

Luke trailed off. There were too many to list, and he'd been to almost all of them at some time or another, often not willingly. 

Kicking, he drifted along towards the Imperial territories of Bastion and Muunilist, while Lilandra lingered behind him, still encircled by the innermost core of the galaxy, gazing about her with a look of intense concentration, searching for something. Luke paused.

*_You've seen Chad, haven't you?*_ he asked her.

_ *Yes,*_ she replied. _*I'm looking for Alderaan.*_

Luke stopped himself, placing the flats of his palms against the invisible current to diminish his momentum. She was a smart girl, that Lilandra – perhaps smarter than most people would give her credit for. Only someone with a great analytical thirst for knowledge would've thought to look for Alderaan if they desired to unlock the secrets of such a mystery as this. 

_*Is it there?*_ Luke asked, as Lilandra lowered her head.

_ *No. No ... it's gone.*_

That explained much about the properties of the apparition, as Lilandra had evidently hoped it would. It meant that not only did this map show the galaxy, it showed it exactly as it was at that very moment: the stars going nova, the stars being born … so many stars winking out and blinking on again that Luke was momentarily dazzled, and he clawed for the surface, feeling overwhelmed and suddenly conscious of the lack of air in his lungs. 

His head broke the surface of the water, and he took a great racking breath, shaking with the effort. The temple looked impossibly small … too small to contain the miracle Luke had observed beneath the innocuous black waters. He was relieved to be back within a space of natural proportions … and yet …

He thought suddenly of all the planets whose names he _*didn't*_ know, of all the planets that were possibly undiscovered, unnamed, unimportant …

He ducked back beneath the water, experiencing potential revelation. 

_ *Nothing's ever unimportant,*_ he thought to Lilandra before she could ask him any questions.

_ *That's the spirit,_* she thought back, seeming to understand the source of the rather random comment, and he thought he felt her smile. 

He swam to join her, allowing the mysterious underwater force to take hold once more. 

_*Do you know the names of all these planets?*_ asked Lilandra. 

_ *Heck no. There are far too many,* _Luke replied. _*Besides, half of these don't even _have _names. Look – *_

His eyes flew immediately to a random star on the outermost point of the Outer Rim territories, around which rapidly circled three planets, two drawn closely into its yellow glare. 

The third, however, was larger than its solar brothers, orbiting in a wildly erratic path much farther out in the system than the other two planets, which hugged their sun like a guardian. 

The rogue planet almost seemed to be trying to wrench itself from the invisible gravitational grasp of its host sun, as if yearning to carry itself out across the galaxy, affix itself to any other solar orbit but its current one. 

The effect was strange – it gave Luke an uncharacteristic feeling of sudden desperation, of a deep, intense longing, which he felt he had to point out to Lilandra, in case she had noticed it as well. 

*_Look at that one,*_ he thought. _*I don't think anyone's ever cast an eye to that one before.*_

_ *Ooh – it's an independent,*_ Lilandra joked. Luke took this to mean that she *_hadn't*_ been taken in by the feelings of loss emanating from the lonely planet, but what she said next derailed that theory. 

_ *I didn't think this creation was programmed to feel as well …* _she thought to him, her inner voice sounding quieter, more subdued. _*Doesn't looking at that tiny little system make you wonder what sort of incredible world one of those planets might conceal? It makes me sad, in a way, that the days of galactic exploration are over … unless you're a pirate, of course.*_

_ *Yes,*_ Luke agreed. _*But I don't know if even a pursued bounty hunter would want to hide on a world so far from … everything_._* _

Tenderly, he reached out his hand and cupped his fingers around the planet, holding the image for a moment in his palm, the skin lit by its gray iridescence. He felt a faint, warm tingling in his palms, a fleeting instant where he felt he could have taken the world between his fingertips and plucked it from the heavens; brought it home and it wouldn't have resisted.

_ *Nothing's unimportant,*_ Lilandra began, her voice quieted by sympathy, but was abruptly cut off from her next thought when something remarkable and frankly terrifying began to happen.

Luke, hovering in the center of the galaxy, was suddenly surrounded by a multitude of stars, rushing towards him at a frightening rate. The little planet whirled beyond his grasp as the underwater suspensions cut him loose, and he felt his arms lift against his will. 

Feeling weighted, he fought his way up through the mass of spinning light encircling him as he realized that the map seemed to be collapsing, folding in on itself, returning to the secret place in which it dwelled. He felt Lilandra at his heels, and her confusion washed over him like the waves bumping gently against him under the water, adding to his alarm.

_*What's happening?*_ she thought to him, sounding on edge as she plowed past him for the surface.

_ *Sulfuric gas eruption,*_ Luke replied, speaking purely on an instinctive inspiration. _*Best make tracks.*_

_ *Aw, gee, *_ Lilandra thought sarcastically as her hands broke the surface and pulled the rest of her body up with them. *_I sort of fancied being boiled alive in a lake of acid …*_

"Now is no time to be snarky!" Luke gasped as he also reached the surface, which had become a riot of vapor and vast shimmering bubbles that sprayed the temple with violently hot droplets as they exploded. 

Grabbing the ledge simultaneously, Luke and Lilandra rolled onto the wet stones and crawled, snake-like, for the exit. 

The lake, which had become a great, heaving mass, suddenly belched an almighty fireball that tore through the temple, the air it pushed in front of it throwing the two Jedi through the doorway and well clear of the pyramid.

Luke landed face-first in the mud some ten feet away from the temple, and crouched low as Lilandra tried to grab the ground to break her fall but caught her shoulder against a sagging branch and somersaulted gracelessly past his head instead, only to land upside-down in a hedgerow at the base of another thick trunk. 

Bewildered, Luke sat up and watched, enthralled, as the interior of the temple glowed a kind of greenish yellow for a moment and then faded into black once more, thin strands of smoke and rotten-smelling vapor curling around the doorframe. He heaved a satisfied sigh of relief, and stood. 

Lilandra wrestled herself from the clutches of the hedge, and brushed the leaves from her wet hair and clothing. Her pants and shirt were pasted to her body, and her long hair was a tangled mess of mud and twigs, but she smiled as though her entire life's ambition had been fulfilled in the moment she'd been blown from the Temple of the Galaxy. 

She suppressed a giggle, and Luke imagined he must not look much better than she did at that very moment. 

"That was something else, wasn't it?" she asked breathlessly. 

"Your shoes and vest were in there," Luke pointed out, assessing his injuries. 

Lilandra shrugged. "There're more where they came from," she said flippantly. "You know, it's amazing how being soaking wet prevents you from becoming a fiery column of death …"

"An experience like that tends to give you a false interpretation of danger," Luke commented wryly, still feeling mightily shaken. 

Both his knees had been skinned upon impact with the muddy ground, and his palms were raw where he had lowered them instinctively to break his fall. There was nothing broken, however, owing to the good sense he'd had to roll with his hip as he'd connected with the forest floor, although he suspected he'd have some nasty bruises tomorrow morning, and, miraculously, his limited articles of clothing had remained relatively unscathed. This was a fact for which he was very grateful – the path back to the Great Temple was long enough without having to walk it naked.

"Shall we, then?" Lilandra asked, yawning widely. Luke found it amazing how cool she was being about the entire experience. She had seemed more impressed with the Galaxy Lake than her own evasion of an untimely demise. 

"We shall," agreed Luke, most certain that he'd have no trouble falling asleep upon his return to his apartment. 

The pair began to walk in silence, not touching, not talking, hearing only the squelching of their feet in the mud along the path, and the soft sighing of waves echoing through the still night air, though perhaps it was only audible to the two of them. 

The rogue planet, although it had impressed itself upon Luke's weary memory with its evocative emotional ambiance, was forgotten. 


	3. Family Politics

~3~

Family Politics

  


The morning came much faster than Luke had hoped. No sooner had he stripped off his wet things, hidden the evidence of his midnight adventure, and fallen exhaustedly into bed than, from behind closed eyelids, he heard Mara moving about the apartment. A sudden shaft of light pierced the blackness of his dreamless sleep, and he knew that Mara had yanked the curtains open, perhaps a little more forcefully than was necessary. 

Luke cracked open an eyelid, just enough so he could monitor his wife's movements from between his eyelashes. 

She was already fully clothed in her usual weekend gear – a black, form-fitting mechanic's jumper with a faded Imperial hexagon emblazoned on the left breast – and already drinking deeply from a bottle of amber liquid. Her usually intense, striking features had inexplicably arranged themselves to look particularly murderous on this morning, and Luke felt his throat abruptly seize upon itself. 

In her fist, she clutched his still-soaking, heat-scored shirt from the night before, and a look like death incarnate had appeared on her pretty face. Luke watched her toss the shirt into the portable trash compactor with a low growl – she was mad enough to swear in different colors. 

She knew. 

This in itself was remarkable to Luke, as there was nothing to know, really. But Mara was possessed of the fantastic ability to put two and two together and get five, and, even more special, convince herself even in the face of terrible adversity that she was, in fact, correct in her assumptions. 

She banged about the room for a few minutes more, and then, pushing the empty bottle of probably alcoholic beverage savagely onto the corner table, she stormed from the apartment, slamming the door with the force of a stampede of angry banthas. 

Greatly afraid now, Luke threw off his blankets, leapt out of bed, hastily dressed himself in a pair of black denims and vest, completed the ensemble with his fraying Jedi robes, and ran from the room, grabbing his lightsaber from the bedside table as he went. Clearly, at least according to Mara, it was _*not_* going to be a good morning. 

  


***

  


The dining room was quiet when Luke slipped in and took his seat at the head of the long, burnished table. Kerryna Occot, divergent to habit, had actually chosen to eat with the students this morning, and was seated at Luke's right hand. 

"Master Skywalker," she murmured, inclining her head towards him respectfully, albeit timidly. 

"Good morning, Kerryna. Have a good sleep?" he asked, nodding politely to her and smiling. 

"Yes, thanks," she replied, gazing at him with an odd look in her eyes. She dared to return his smile, and Luke caught a brief glimpse of the fair, modest woman behind her sullen exterior. This made him smile more broadly, cheered him slightly. 

Contrary to everyone else, Luke liked Kerryna. He found her funny, and more than a little irreverent, and, past differences aside, there was a certain level of mutual esteem between them. 

At his left sat Jaina, who was shoveling bits of pancake into her mouth at a staggering rate. She seemed to be in a hurry to go somewhere, but, noting that Mara was seated beside her, looking simultaneously homicidal and triumphant as she read the morning news transmissions on Anakin's datapad, Luke realized that he'd be tempted to scarf his breakfast as well, lest Mara's burgeoning anger explode before he'd had a chance to suck back his fruit juice in peace. 

Jacen Solo, Jaina's twin brother, ambled casually out of the kitchen, balancing two plates of steaming pancakes in mid air, one of which he placed in front of Kerryna, and the other in front of Luke. 

"'Morning, uncle!" he boomed, and punctuated that with a manly belch, drawing disgusted glances from Tara and Anakin, seated further down the table. 

"'Morning, Jacen," Luke said. "How's business?"

"Delicious as usual," his nephew replied, patting his muscular belly. Jacen was the Academy's master chef, and was proud of his work. *_Perhaps too proud,*_ Luke thought warily as Jacen burped again, and vanished back through the kitchen door. 

Luke watched Mara watching Jacen, and noted the deliberate way she then passed her lethal gaze over all present at the table except him. No one else mentioned the phenomenon, although Luke could see that everyone had noticed it. They knew that a Skywalker marital conflict was dangerous territory, particularly where amiable breakfast conversation was concerned. An awkward silence threatened to settle over the table, when the wary stupor was interrupted. 

Lilandra had just flounced happily into the dining room, dressed in full Jedi garb, and seated herself primly beside her sister, a smug grin on her face. Only then did Mara fix Luke with a vicious stare that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. She was definitely playing at more than his ruined clothes this time. 

Luke might've made it safely through the meal without further incident if Lilandra had not chosen that very moment to voice her observations.

"Is there something wrong, Mara?"

Slowly, deliberately, everyone looked up from their plates, except Mara, of course, who flushed a deep crimson right to the roots of her flaming hair and seemed to be attempting to bore a hole through her plate with her eyes as she closed the datapad. 

Luke could see that she was dying to get into it, mostly because she now had an audience to her rage, but he prayed that she would exercise some old Imperial restraint at this most inopportune of times to pick a fight with her husband …

No such luck. 

"I'm a little – what's that charming way you put it, Lilandra? – 'ticked off'," Mara said through tight lips, tossing a lock of golden-red hair back behind her shoulders, which were drawn tensely up around her ears. 

"Any particular reasons?" Lilandra asked, playing sweet and dumb. "Oh, by the way, are you done with the daily rags? Today's press assessment day, you know. Where they take all us political types down a notch for either being too Republican or not enough."

Mara's smile lengthened as she slapped her palm down on top of the closed datapad and slid it back towards her. The room seemed to hold its breath. 

"Actually, Lilandra … there's something here that may interest you. If I may?"

Lilandra glanced uncertainly at Luke, who shrugged resignedly. Lilandra understood the gesture. Whatever Mara was getting at, it was going to happen sooner or later, so it might as well happen now.

"Absolutely, Mara," she said, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms over her chest. "Be my guest."

Down the table, Tara and Jaina exchanged a snide glance and peeked gleefully at Lil as Mara re-opened the datapad and pretended to scan the articles, humming, although clearly, her defense had been planned in her mind from the moment Lilandra had skipped merrily into the dining room. 

"Oh … ah, here we go." Mara withdrew a pair of glasses from her breast pocket and slipped them on, cocking her head innocently to the side as she stared at Lilandra from across the table. "Let's see … yes … this is from the _Morning Star_, byline Biale Aziz."

There was an expectant pause, in which Mara delighted and through which Luke and Lilandra waited uneasily. Then, with mock seriousness, Mara began.

" … Perhaps one of the most high-profile political actions taken this session by the New Republicans was the Bill of Compensation, written and passed under the guidance of recently appointed Senator Lilandra Ilkhaine of the Chad system, which called for the total monetary reimbursement of all persons affected by the brief totalitarian regime instated by Admiral Kerryna Occot – coincidentally, the senator's own sister.' Oh, Kerryna." Mara flicked her eyes apologetically to the elder Occot, who fixed her with an eerily placid glare. "Sorry about that."

"That's alright," Kerryna replied quietly. "They're never going to get it right. It was _Grand_ Admiral Kerryna Occot, thank you very much."

A momentary uncomfortable silence descended on the gathering as the temperature in the room seemed to fall several degrees. Kerryna smiled down at her hands, delighting in the reaction. 

Mara cleared her throat and continued. " 'However, the true star of the proceedings was Ilkhaine herself, who seemed to use her sudden return to the public eye – ending a four-year period of virtual non-existence in the political sphere – to attract as much attention as possible to her age and appearance. The nubile Ilkhaine, who celebrates her twenty-sixth birthday in the fall, has been romantically and sexually linked to such high-profile figures as Senator Deain Ma'Four of Coruscant, Ambassador Mael Kirlane, and …'"

Mara's eyes twinkled lethally. Lilandra whitened. 

" ' … And in an unprecedented scandal revealed to _Morning Star_ editors by insiders, former Rebel Alliance leader and publicly married Jedi icon _Luke Skywalker_.'"

Satisfied, Mara quietly closed the datapad and sat back in her chair, looking smug. No one spoke; no one moved, for a good thirty, agonizing seconds. 

It was Jaina who broke the silence, looking uncomfortable but faintly amused. "Sweet deal, Lilly – Mael Kirlane? He's a sexy beast, that one – however did you wrangle it?"

Lilandra didn't answer at first. She seemed shell-shocked, frozen in her chair, but her eyes were bright, betraying the myriad snappy comebacks whirling through her brain.

The one she settled on was: "Mara, who are you intending to punish with this? Me, or Luke?"

Anakin and Jaina provided the appropriate sound effects of an all-out table war as a shadow passed noticeably across Mara's face. It was gone in an instant though, and she smiled again.

"I had hoped you wouldn't manage to involve yourself in Luke's and my business again, but it seems I hoped in vain," she spat.

"What are you talking about?" Lilandra demanded, rising slightly from her chair.

Suddenly, it was as though the senator didn't exist. Mara's head snapped around to fix her husband with a violent glare. "You know _damn well _… what I'm talking about!" she shouted at him, stopping to draw breath between the parts of the sentence. "Sneaking … out in the middle … of the night!"

The three younger kids broke instantly into a chorus of gasping and laughter, which Luke put a stop to immediately.

"Out!" he roared, pointing to the door. But Lilandra was enraged now too, almost as formidable a presence as Mara at that moment.

"No! They stay. Mara started this in front of them, she should finish it in front of them, too."

"I'm not comfortable airing my family business in … in the dining room – " Luke started.

"No, I quite agree," Mara interrupted him, staring at Lilandra again. The teenagers looked on, baffled. 

"Mara, why are you doing this?" Luke asked, lowering his voice. "You _know _my relationship with Lilandra is nothing but platonic. You _know_ – you were out there on the roof with us last night!"

"So then what is _this _business all about?" she demanded, jabbing a finger onto the top of the datapad.

"I haven't the faintest! But the sneaking out … there's a perfectly rational explanation."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! Lilandra and I went to the _Te'am Galatsia_, the Temple of the Galaxy, you know …" he foundered, waiting for a sign of comprehension from his wife. "Just to see if it was _real_."

"_Why_?"

"I think you know why."

The couple stood gazing at each other a moment longer, non-negotiable expressions of matching anguish on their faces. Luke folded first, his sense easily overriding his pride, and reached out his hand to touch her lightly on the arm, but she jerked her hand away, and turned with a fiery glance at Lilandra.

"You know, they call you 'Senator Snatch' later on," she said meanly, shoving the datapad across the table at Lilandra. "Extra, extra. Read all about it."

Then, she turned on her heel and marched out of the dining room, leaving a stunned quiescence in her wake. 

Lilandra's face twisted with rage suddenly, and she leapt out of her seat so quickly she knocked her chair to the ground with a clatter. Making as though to run after the woman and finish it once and for all, she instead bellowed "Stupid cow!" to which Mara, in the hallway, responded, "Don't be silly, Lilly Snatch", whereupon Lilandra sat down hard in Mara's vacant seat, buried her head in her arms and was silent.

After a second of some astonishment, Jaina's furtive giggles pierced the bubble of quiet hovering over the table.

"What's funny?" Luke asked incredulously, sitting motionless in his own seat.

" … _Senator Snatch_?" Jaina gasped finally. Beside her, Tara, whose shoulders were shaking, snorted violently and promptly doubled over, matching Jaina and Anakin's near-hysterical laughter. 

"Ha, funny," was Lilandra's muffled response. 

"Oh, don't worry," Anakin said easily. "She'll be over it in half an hour."

Lilandra raised her (very red) face, and looked to her sister for support, but even Kerryna was smiling a private sort of smile. "Does that make me Grand Admiral Snatch?" she questioned gently, drawing more laughter from the children. 

"Shut _you_ up," Lilandra pouted, and repeated, "stupid cow."

"_Lil_," Luke reprimanded her sharply, looking guilty. "I would have expected you, as a politician and Jedi student, to take the moral high road here."

"According to Mara, the moral road I travel is just about the lowest one you _can_ travel save for the one into hell, where I'm headed _very shortly_," she retorted, resting her chin sulkily on her hands again. 

"Ah, go on, Lil," Jaina urged. "Mael Kirlane isn't a bad catch when all is said and done."

"That's not the point!" Lilandra snapped.

"I thought you said it wasn't true," Kerryna said wonderingly. "All of that …"

"It _isn't_! I'm mad because Mara doesn't even trust her own husband enough to know what's friendship and what's a lie made up to sell more papers! And I don't feel that _I _should be made to sacrifice my integrity to her idea of a little power game."

"Bravo," Anakin smiled.

"I'm sorry, Luke," the senator added sheepishly. 

"Lil!" Luke cried incredulously. "_Sorry_?"

"Oh, don't you start in on me," she snapped, her fists clenching. "Mara was out of line, humiliating us like that – "

"She said 'us'," Anakin swooned. Tara slapped his shoulder. 

"Still!" Luke said insistently, and then, with less resolve, "Still."

Lilandra held him with a level, honest, frankly intimidating gaze that reminded Luke painfully of his sister Leia. 

"You know I have nothing but the utmost respect for your wife," she said quietly. 

"Might that be the aforementioned 'stupid cow'?" Kerryna prompted. Lilandra made a threatening hissing sound in her general direction.

"But she was out of line. And I have a _huge_ history of contention with the character that wrote that drivel. Let me just clarify three things right now, for all of you," she continued, looking at everyone in turn.

"_One_, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but Mael Kirlane and I are colleagues, and he's taken me out for dinner a few times, and we've posed for a few photo ops, but my interest in him and Ma'Four is not in any way sexual, although I can see how that might be construed. Which brings me to _two_: I am a senator, and I'm a well-known friend of the Skywalkers, obviously. Tabloids are my life. Any opportunity Biale Aziz has to discredit your family through me, he leaps on it. It _happens_. Finally, the so-called 'insider' who seems to know more about my relationship with Luke than I do probably hasn't been heard from since the Foamwander crisis when we were –unfortunately – sighted together during Luke's – unfortunate – separation from Mara. Clear?"

Seeing Anakin's expression, she added darkly, "_And nothing was going on between us then, either_, so _piss off_, Ani."

He grinned. "I love you, too, Lil."

  


***

  


True to Anakin's prediction, Mara _was_ over it in half an hour, and back to bossing the students around with a smile on her face, but that was how Mara usually worked. Like a mounting thunderstorm, the moments before the rain were the most dangerous, because any moment could signify the arrival of the first lightning strike, and it was best to take shelter while you still could. The fireworks themselves were a little frightening to observe, or at best made you a little uncomfortable, but by the time they were over, it was already finished in Mara's mind. A great purge of anger and electricity had relieved her tension, and now she was content to rain all over anyone she pleased.

Luke did not address the many moments in the dining room where his guard had slipped and shown Mara a few tantalizing glimpses of what was really troubling him, although he knew that if she had been perceptive enough to realize that he was gone last night, it was probably fair enough to assume that she realized exactly what had soured in their marriage.

It was for that reason that, when Luke entered their apartment after breakfast and saw Mara standing over the identical frame beds where their children usually slept, holding one of Nathen's toys in a fist she kept pressed against her stomach, her expression blank and emotionless, he said nothing at all about anything that had happened that morning. Just the sorrow that flickered briefly and painfully in his mind when he placed his hand on her shoulder to turn her away from the beds with their immaculate blankets was enough to dissuade him from trying to discuss it further. 

_I've been inoculated_, he thought, without knowing why. _I can stop feeling until this medicine wears off._

Lilandra was a safer issue to address. 

"You do remember," he said quietly to Mara, "that tabloids print lies? It's what people buy them for."

Mara nodded quickly, swallowing hard. It was clear her mind was elsewhere.

"Lil's … sorry," Luke fibbed. "She was just embarrassed."

"I know," Mara replied tightly, turning away from her husband and dropping Nathen's toy on the bureau with a clatter.

Luke shut his eyes and placed his fingers on his temples. "Well, then. Just so you know."

"I know." Mara stared at him, her green eyes shining. That was her way of instructing him to go and pass on the message to Lilandra that she was momentarily forgiven, and Luke's stomach heaved anxiously. He had seen Lilandra in many, many moods over the years, but never in such a towering, petty fury as she'd been in that morning. He wasn't excited about possibly inviting that rage upon himself again, but, for the sake of the peace, he squeezed Mara's shoulder comfortingly, ignored it when she shrugged his hand away, and stalked out of the apartment into the hallway, careful not to let the door slam behind him.

  


***

  


Lilandra wasn't in her apartment, or the common room, where Anakin and Jaina lounged, discussing seriously the morning's events.

"Do you know where she went?" Luke asked tiredly of his nephew and niece. 

"No clue, Uncle Luke," Jaina replied, and suddenly giggled again. "Ah, Senator Snatch – that was priceless …"

Luke put on his best Jedi Master frown. "Don't you kids have something you could be doing right now?" he asked in a manner that suggested it was a direct order. 

Anakin nodded fearfully, and the two youngsters jumped up and slammed out of the common room onto the landing pad, where they would most likely continue their commentary in Jaina's hammock in the shade. 

Fighting exhaustion, Luke continued down the hallway to the kitchen, where Jacen and Tara were washing the breakfast dishes.

"I think she's in the communications room," Tara said, quietly and helpfully. Luke smiled for the first time all morning, seeing the way Tara was tiptoeing around him now. Her studied meekness was a relief after dealing with all of the Academy's fierce women. He didn't even think to ask why Lilandra would be in the communications room, but went there anyway, finding the door standing open just a crack.

Carefully, he peered through the crack, widening it just a bit, and saw Lilandra sitting at the messaging console with her knees drawn up protectively to her chin, reading from the same datapad Mara had used to accost her that morning. He knew just by her face, which didn't have quite the same capacity for blank stares as Mara's, that she was re-reading Bub Aziz's _Morning Star_ article.

"Lil, don't dwell on it, okay?" he murmured gently, pushing the door open all the way.

Startled, she glanced up, sharply closing the datapad. Luke hesitated when he saw the tears in her eyes. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, backing away.

She shook her head remorsefully, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve and braving a smile that only saddened him more. 

"What's the matter?" he asked, stepping into the room and dragging a chair over to sit beside her. 

She gestured to the datapad, a few fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. 

"Ah, come on, it's just lies. You said so yourself," Luke pointed out, placing his palm warmly on her shoulder. "And Mara's sorry."

Lilandra laughed bitterly, though the sound was without conviction. "Like hell she is. She's just given me permission to worship her again."

Luke couldn't help but smile. "You've always seemed fairly comfortable with that arrangement, Senator."

"I was, when she was still bloody _human_," Lilandra said softly, shaking her head. "It's what we were talking about last night. Her, sending the twins away, going subsequently 

insane – "

"She's not insane," Luke frowned. "She's still my wife, Lilandra."

"But you don't understand her," Lilandra continued, looking upset again, her voice rising with the color in her face. "It's impossible to understand her. I thought I did, when I used to come here after the twins were born, and I'd be with them day and night … I thought she just needed a break from parenting. I mean, who wouldn't? But then Leia tells me that when I'm not there, it's you looking after them, or Tara, or Leia herself, or even bloody _Cilghal_, who has other people to take care of!"

Luke sighed heavily under the weight of Lilandra's gaze. 

"Did you not notice what was going on?" Lilandra said, quiet again. "Did you not see that she was doing everything she could to keep from falling in love with them?"

_Of course I noticed!_ Luke wanted to shout, not at Lilandra, but at Mara, or at anyone who would _listen_. 

"They're my children," he continued out loud. "If I had wanted them to go away, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"I hate her more than anything for doing this. It's not just this morning. When you told me last night that those darlings were lightyears away from their parents, I wanted to shake her. I just thought, how can one woman, who brought two children into the world in faith and love, be so damn _cruel_?"

Lilandra rested her head on her hands again, her eyes shining with tears. "You know what upset me about _this_?" she asked, poking the datapad angrily. She didn't wait for Luke's response. 

"It's not _me_," she continued, struggling valiantly to keep control although her eyes were welling again. "That girl is not _me_. I thought Mara would understand that. She's seen me with her children a hundred times, she knows how much I want my own … she's heard me say even more often how much …"

She paused, looking even more upset at her own tears than the words she was saying. "She's heard me say how much I want what you and she used to have."

"What do you mean?" Luke asked gently.

"You know," Lilandra said, smiling halfheartedly through her tears. "The fairytale romance, the passionate fights and even more passionate reconciliation, even just the unspoken bond the two of you shared, even when you were trying your hardest to snap it clean in half. The way it was back when I met you. When this so-called 'informer' thought I was dying to be in Mara's place."

Luke stared wonderingly at her, feeling strangely cheered by her words. The way she described his marriage, it sounded so … amazing. Did you have to be a lonely, romantic-minded young woman to view it with such profound envy and awe?

"See this," Lilandra murmured, pushing the datapad away and shaking her head, "this is inaccurate. It's not you I was in love with when I was twenty-one. It's what you _had_. What I thought you had."

She rested her cheek on the cool metal of the messaging console, and actually smiled. "I look and look, but everything pales in comparison."

The tension finally broken, the air inexplicably but definitely cleared, Luke smiled too, even chuckled faintly at the irony implied in her words. 

"It happens eventually, Lilandra. Shit happens."

Then, they both burst out laughing, for the stupidity and utter humanity of their sadness, feeling markedly relieved that they were still alive enough to feel like this.


	4. Flicker

~4~

Flicker

  


After a while, Luke and Lilandra's laughter subsided into a reflective silence, laced with unspoken gratitude and broken only by the soft hum of the messaging console. 

Luke leaned his head against the back of his chair and shut his eyes. In the darkness behind his eyelids, all he could see were stars close enough to hold. He sat up again.

"Lil," he said, startling her out of her own reverie.

"Mm?"

"I never got a chance to thank you for last night."

"Well, it was beneficial for me, too, I think," she said, her eyebrows coming together in thought. "I feel I forget sometimes the insignificance of material possessions. It's easy to buy into the microcosm of Coruscant, and all the money and flash. Last night was a very 'Jedi' experience. You know, what's simple is true, yet unbelievably and incomprehensibly complex and all that. The stuff you hate teaching."

She grinned wryly.

"I don't hate teaching it," Luke disagreed. "I believe in it, don't I? How can you despise your personal beliefs? It's still my way of life, for the most part. Recently, though, I find a lot of the older teachings really don't apply to my or anybody else's way of life anymore. I liked the Galaxy Lake; it's not trying to force you to see something that isn't there. Quite the opposite, actually. By showing you what really exists, whether you believe it or not, it makes you feel things that make sense to you. Religion in the true sense of the concept: experiencing a reality that is so deliciously unreal, a part of you can't help but acknowledge some higher transcendent power – something greater than anything humans or aliens could conceive – that put it there."

"It's a big universe," Lilandra mused. "Even seeing our tiny section of it in its totality was quite literally mind-boggling."

"Sure," Luke shrugged. "Think of that little planet we saw, way out there on the edges of time – how different the galaxy must look, when you're on the outside, looking in."

"I wonder … if you were standing on the side of the planet facing outward, into interstellar space, at nightfall, would you see stars? Or only blackness? What if you grew up there, night after night, having no concept of stars?"

The thought made Lilandra nervous. Luke laughed gently, and reached out to pat her hand, which rested tersely on the messaging console. It occurred to him, for some unknown reason – perhaps because of the extraordinary nature of their conversation, which had made him suddenly aware of the massive significance of every tiny thing in the room – that it was the first time he had touched her at all since the night before.

Very lightly, he cupped his palm over her knuckles … and then suddenly jerked his hand back as a shock of static electricity sprang from the touch of her skin.

However, even when he had drawn his hand protectively to his chest, words of good-natured admonishment poised on his tongue, the sharp, prickling sensation did not stop. 

All at once, a bitter, biting cold whipped through his veins, his muscles clenching of their own accord, as a most indescribable feeling whirled into and through his mind. It was a feeling of fear, of childish fear, the fear of shadows and darkness that Luke had never quite grown out of, but beneath it was a more sinister undercurrent: a heartbreaking loneliness, a powerful sense of loss and abandonment, of something that has gone away and will never, cannot ever come back. He felt something had died, worse than died. Been taken away. The feeling was not altogether unfamiliar, but that it was punctuated with flashes of anticipation, joy, curiosity – happy emotions – sent confusion washing over Luke, and he felt suddenly full. Stuffed full of emotion and sick from the effort of trying to digest it all.

His stomach heaved, and he doubled over in his chair, but only a single word tumbled from the top of his head to his lips: _Help_.

He choked on the bitterness of the word, his hands gripping the arms of his chair, while his entire body shook with the force of feeling so powerfully, as though a thousand other people had taken up residence in his skull and promptly begun to fight to make their anguish heard.

He tried to stand, thinking perhaps that running away would rid him of the voices whirling and shouting through his brain, but he was frozen in place, paralyzed while every ounce of energy in him fed the riot in his head.

Then, just as he felt himself losing his grip on consciousness, it was all gone, the voices, the feelings, the pain, and he was left shaking hard with his arms hugged around himself for sheer comfort. 

He sat still for a moment, waiting on the last of the ache in his head and stomach to subside and for the spots to clear from behind his eyes before he opened them.

When he did, it was to a room empty of anything untoward, any explanation for what had just occurred. The communications room was void of any feeling, perhaps emptier than it should have been. Luke tried to sense Lilandra, sitting next to him still with involuntary tears pouring down her white face, but his awareness had left him momentarily. It was as though his telepathic sense had a volume dial, and some malicious deity had turned it up to way past its normal level, bordering on a dangerous level of sensory capacity, then guiltily switched it right off. 

Hesitantly, Luke reached for Lilandra's hand again, and this time, their fingers met without incident. Luke relaxed only slightly. It was okay to talk now, he felt.

"Lil, I … I'm sorry," he tried. He had only wanted to touch her hand … for some reason, he was irrationally tempted to blame Mara, but even she wasn't capable of producing the energy needed to create the effect that had taken hold in the instant that Luke's skin made contact with Lilandra's. 

Lilandra shook her head, still crying silently, and Luke was filled with pity – the first real emotion he could muster. With it, his Force sense returned, and again, the room began to buzz. His head still felt unnaturally empty without the voices, though.

"Are you alright now?" Luke asked.

Lilandra shook her head both yes and no, and swallowed hard, wiping her eyes.

"What if you knew stars once," she whispered tearfully, not meeting Luke's compassionate gaze, "and had them taken away?"

The hollowness of her words made his soul ache, and he too had to look away, and that was when he noticed the light.

His pulse climbed to the speed of anxiety as his eyes came to rest on the messaging console, where the receiving light was frantically blinking red.

A message was waiting.

***

Tara Jaksbin was a bare few meters from her apartment door when the flicker in the Force's usually unwavering guidance hit her. She felt a bitter, unhappy cold whip through her veins like an injection of misery, and then welcoming blackness seized her before the emotions could. The last sound she heard before she hit the ground was one of terror; a scream that she was certain had come from her own mouth, at least in part. Voices swirled in her head, and she felt she was sinking down into a great pit of despair, and she knew no more until the only audible voices she could pick up were the familiar ones of her boyfriend, Anakin, and his sister Jaina. 

" … Hit by it, too," Jaina was saying, clucking with dismay. 

"We'll … find Master Skywalker," said Anakin, sounding strangely distant. "Come on, Jainy. Help me…"

Tara felt someone's arm slide underneath her knees, and another arm supported her waist from beneath. Someone else placed a smooth, cool palm on her forehead, and two fingers on her jugular, feeling for vitals. Then, she was aware of her body leaving the cold stone floor, and the pressure on her lower back and ankles was graciously lifted. She let her muscles relax, and whoever was carrying her grunted suddenly as her body went limp and her weight increased. 

"Tara, can you hear me?" Jaina whispered at her as Anakin, obviously the one doing the heavy lifting, started off down the hallway.

Tara dared to crack open an eye, but all she could see at first was the dusty sand-brick wall of the corridor drifting slowly past, as her head was dangling from Anakin's elbow. She lifted her neck, and saw Jaina, walking at Anakin's side. She looked awfully white. 

"Solo," Tara called her boyfriend. Anakin glanced down at her from his towering, gangly height, and Tara assessed his state of mind. He appeared tired, withdrawn. Apparently, he and Jaina had felt the flicker as well.

"Put me down," Tara commanded in a croak, and Anakin obliged, keeping an arm around her waist to steady her until she found her center of gravity. Tara's feet met the floor, and the hallway began to swim before her eyes, the phosphorescent lights bearing down on her tired retinas. Yet she remained standing – this was a good sign. 

"Any idea where Luke might've gone?" Anakin asked Jaina.

She shook her head – Tara briefly wondered why she didn't just put out some mental Force-feelers and sense her way to Skywalker's location, but then she realized, as she tentatively tested her own Jedi sense, that the Force flicker had not only breathed misery into the three of them, it had sucked out their strengths as well. Tara could not even feel Anakin, walking beside her in the corridor. 

"Hope this is a temporary side effect," Jaina muttered, turning her eyes threateningly towards the ceiling, as though the flicker were some bird that had swept down from the clouds and stolen her hat, as though she could call it back with a flash of her dark brown eyes.

"Have a peek in the dining room, will you, Jaya?" Anakin said as they passed by the adjacent doors of the common lounge and the eating area. 

Jaina gave the door a push with her palm, but found only Jacen, her twin; inside clearing away abandoned breakfast dishes with a drained expression on his face. A sandglass mug lay shattered beneath the back window. 

"Luke, Jace?" she asked, meeting his identical brown gaze and flushing angrily as he shrugged, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair. 

"Dave in hangar bay," he added, as though that would help.

"Dave not Jedi," Jaina said testily. Jacen gave her an apologetic half-smile, and brushed past the table to the kitchen door, balancing his stacks of plates on his palms. 

"Hangar bay," Jaina said darkly, gesturing down the hallway, and set off, evidently beginning to feel well enough to take command as she usually did. Anakin and Tara followed, giving each other an oddly wide berth. Tara kept close to the inside wall, running her fingers along the bricks lest she become disoriented, while Anakin trailed along some feet back, glancing nervously in all the rooms they passed along the way. 

They reached the main entrance hall, beneath the peak of the temple. The layered ceiling rose fifty feet above them, closing off after twenty to accommodate the second-floor apartments, while two wide corridors branched off in either direction. On the left and towards the front of the temple was the hangar bay corridor, where thin shafts of sunlight streamed into the corridor from between the slats in the huge metal door sectioning off the garage from the rest of the temple. Evidently, the outer doors beyond had been left open – Dave was in there, most likely servicing Lilandra's shuttle. 

To the right lay the second-floor and roof stairs, the roof stairs curving up one terraced wall and out of sight, the second-floor stairs directly ahead against the back wall of the entrance hall, wide and grand. Behind them were the double wooden doors that opened into the windowed great hall, and the smaller, more informal war room, rows of wooden benches visible in the dusky light filtering from its single muddied window. 

Jaina steered them in the direction of another corridor that branched off just alongside the roof stairs – the private lab hallway and, across from it, the communications room. 

"You two go and find Master Skywalker. I need to let Dave know what's happened," Jaina dictated, and gave her brother a small push towards the hallway. He grabbed Tara's hand, and they ventured across the hall together, while Jaina ran in the opposite direction.

They watched her disappear through a man-sized door in the larger metal one, and then glanced urgently at each other. 

All of a sudden, it was as though Tara's rightful voice had returned to her, and a flood of words spilled forth from her mouth – fears and explanations and apologies for nothing whatsoever. Anakin placed a finger against her lips to silence her, and she gave a loud yelp as her Force-sense snapped back into focus. Her awareness increased to a hundred times its previous level, and she began to notice things again – the hesitance of the small sand-snake in the corner boring its way through one of the bricks, Anakin's concerned presence, and the anxiety of two other Jedi creeping into her senses. 

"Comm. Room," she said, proud of herself. 

She and Anakin pushed through the metal door on their left, and promptly walked straight into Lilandra and Luke, who had apparently been huddling against the wall in terror.

"Ho! What's going on in here?" Anakin asked, blue eyes peering analytically around the room. 

"Not what it looks like," Lilandra replied, quickly dropping Luke's hand. Tara noticed with some amusement that her knuckles were white, while her cheeks were red. 

Luke pointed a shaking finger at the message console. 

"Message ahoy," he said, voice filled with petrified awe. 

Anakin and Tara exchanged a glance. There was no need to ask the reason for the anxious looks circulating the room – clearly, Luke had reason to believe that the innocuous flashing of the receiving light had something to do with the disturbance in the Force. 

"It's probably just …" Anakin started boldly, but trailed off. He'd been about to say his parents, or Lilandra or someone removed from the academy when it had dawned on him that all were currently present on Yavin 4, preparing to while away their summer vacations in the searing jungle heat. 

Jaina strode into the room then, Dave in tow, and stared quizzically at the small group of Jedi massed around the message console. 

"You all look sufficiently stymied," she commented, sucking one fingernail in concentrated thought. 

"Message waiting, Jains," Anakin informed her, not bothering to look up. 

"So? I don't get it! You're all acting like you've never seen a flashing light before. Just answer it!"

The group turned uniformly and gaped at Jaina and her husband as though the pair had just suggested they all play blaster roulette for a bit of indoors fun. Lilandra even gave a rather obvious shudder and backed away from the console, hands raised. 

"You do it, since you seem so keen to lose your mind again," Tara said, extending her palm invitingly towards the console.

"Dave, you do it," Jaina said.

This was not simply a last-minute act of cowardice – it was actually quite good thinking on Jaina's part. As Dave was the only non-Jedi in the room, any strange emotional vibes the message may be carrying wouldn't affect him in the slightest. Also, being brave, Dave was only too glad to oblige. 

He stepped through the crowd, and seated himself at the console; finger poised above the button marked 'receive'. 

"First crisis of the summer is always the most dramatic. You'll get over it," he shrugged, and lowered his finger as all five Jedi in the room cringed simultaneously.

Instead of the cataclysmic disaster they'd been expecting, however, all that appeared on the pop-up message screen was faintly glowing whiteness, unaccompanied by any further wavering in the Force. 

"Well, that was anticlimactic," Anakin put in, whistling, and turned towards the door. 

"No, wait – " Tara started, going and kneeling beside Dave. She squinted at the screen. "Focus it up a bit, Dave."

Dave tweaked a knob at the side of the screen, and a large square cursor appeared. Pressing another button, he zoomed in on the center of the glowing white screen.

A gasp rose from the crowd as a pale square speckled with thousands of tiny black, labeled stars appeared in place of the void. Lilandra and Luke looked particularly astonished.

"Look familiar, Lil?" Tara asked, almost vindictively. 

"Oh, sweet …" 

All the color had drained from the senator's face. Anakin patted her shoulder sympathetically. 

"I'm convinced. Disaster follows you, Ilkhaine. It *_knows you by name*._"

"Oh, come on!" Lilandra cried. "I'm not responsible for this!"

"Well who else could be? Either you or Luke awakened some vindictive beast when you went to that temple last night," Jaina pointed out. "The _Te'am Galatsia _– heard of it. A map of the galaxy beneath the water. What's this?"

"A map of the galaxy," Luke groaned. "But how –?"

"It's impossible," Lilandra stated flatly, folding her arms over her chest. "It's just a coincidence that whoever sent this to us decided to do it the morning after Luke and I visited the lake."

Jaina glared skeptically at her. "Do you *_really_* believe that, Lil? You, of all people, should know by now that there's no such thing as coincidence."

"I refuse to believe that Luke and I are responsible for this somehow," Lilandra said with a haughty toss of her head. 

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Luke interjected. Everyone turned to look at the Jedi Master, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the exchange. 

"Lilandra, remember how we discovered last night that the map beneath the lake showed the galaxy exactly as it was at that moment?"

Lilandra nodded. 

"Well … we realized that obviously, Alderaan was no longer present, correct?"

Lilandra nodded again, looking increasingly sour. 

"All we need to do is check to see if this representation of the galaxy shows Alderaan. If it doesn't, then we accept all blame. If it does, then we'll just have to assume that this is someone's idea of a joke."

Jaina stepped forward, shooing Dave from the chair in front of the console, and drew up the cursor on the map. Tapping in some memorized coordinates, she tweaked the focus knob, and the image responded, finding immediately the planet she had requested. Or rather, finding the blank area labeled "Alderaan Asteroid Plain" in the place where twenty years ago there had been a planet. 

"'Alderaan Asteroid Plain'," Jaina read, a dangerous edge in her voice. The group of Jedi turned and looked pointedly at Lilandra, who blanched and pressed her trembling lips together. 

"It's okay, Lil," said Anakin with thinly veiled cynicism, "we don't blame you for returning mayhem to the academy."

"Yeah, we've survived worse – barely …" Jaina added with a grimace. 

"Alright, that's enough," Luke barked, shaking off the last of his previous stupor and becoming his old business-like self. "We need to get to the bottom of this. Dave, I'll need about four copies of that map drawn up – durable printouts if you can. Anakin, Tara, I need you to analyze the message for information: origin coordinates, sender, anything you can find out about what it's for and why we've got it. Lilandra, you've got the history books – hit the library and start reading up on that lake. Read between the lines, if you have to. Jaina, you come with me. We're going to ask the other students how the flicker affected them. Maybe we can find something out that way.

"Everybody clear on where they're supposed to be right now?"

There was nervous nodding all around. 

"Good. Let's get on with it."


	5. The Map

~5~

The Map

  


It felt good to be back in the lab with a purpose, Anakin thought, flicking on the phosphor lamps above his usual workbench. Even under these most unbelievable of circumstances. 

The rest of the room was dark, the sick bay visible only in shadow through the glass partition separating the two rooms. Tara was stretched out asleep on one of the sterile white beds within, a cold compress over her eyes, hands folded benignly over her stomach. She had promised to join Anakin as soon as she managed to rid herself of her lingering nausea.

Anakin himself still felt a little weak, but he presumed that the shock would wear off once he uncovered the secrets of the letter-sized laminate printout of the map that he held in his hands. 

He set it face-up on the table and pulled up a stool, closing his eyes for a moment to set himself in the right frame of mind to do some deep thinking. A message of this type – a Realtime Imaging Relay, or RIR – could potentially reveal much about itself, if you knew where to look. 

It helped that the messaging console belonging to the academy was equipped with a Galactic Positioning System – a handy rebellion-age device that automatically sourced the origin of every message received by the unit. It had made an exceptional name for itself during the war, when every message intercepted by the Yavin rebel air force base was either a threat of death or a promise of salvation, and even the Imperial offices of the galactic parliament had based their later technologies on it. 

The beauty of the Galactic Positioning System was not just that it had the ability to source all message origins; it also embedded the exact coordinates of the origin into every copy of the message made, stamping them imperceptibly into the grain of the flimsiplast sheets, able to be detected only by microscopic examination.

During the rebellion, the Empire hadn't known about this feature, so even if a message happened to fall into the wrong hands, its origin was safe from prying eyes. 

Anakin paused his reflection to prepare his trusty portable microscope – the Skywalker lab was in possession of medical and scientific technology so formidable, it seemed a shame not to put it to use under these circumstances; it would have added so much more drama to the process – but a regular microscope was all that was needed.

Adjusting the light source to its brightest setting, Anakin squinted through the ocular lens, twisting and turning knobs this way and that. The uppermost right corner of the map printout was secured in place on the stage beneath the lenses, and Anakin smiled as the thickly inked image came into sharp focus. 

"Right then," he murmured. "Let's see what secrets you conceal, my friend …"

The coordinates were exactly where Anakin expected to find them – "Reliable old machine, that console," he clucked, pleased – three of them, as per usual. Large numbers comprised the map width coordinate – a quick glance at the second printout on the table beside him showed Anakin that wherever the map had come from, it was a long way from Yavin. The length coordinate, however, came up very small. Since the coordinates of every planet in the galaxy were listed in relation to their proximity to the axis connecting the Tingel Arm (the leading arm of the galactic mass' slow rotation) to its tail on the opposite side of the galaxy, Anakin was able to deduce that the origin of the message was somewhere quite close to the tip of the Arm, but a fair distance from the bottom of the axis: somewhere in the extreme upper right sector of the galaxy.

The depth coordinate was more difficult to place, as the map was only in two dimensions on paper, but it was of no immediate consequence. Only pedants and hyperspace navigators bothered with sourcing the depth of a planet – plotting that coordinate was an immensely imprecise branch of space exploration, as there was no real axis of reference. Hyperspace navigators possessed the odd ability to view space as though from the inside out, and thus knew exactly where the top began and the bottom ended – depth was much more difficult to see in realspace, which went on forever in all directions. 

Anakin was fair at hyperspace navigation. Thinking about the thousands of possible planes of dimension and the task of finding the correct one for a specific jump still made him nauseous sometimes, but was also the reason hyperspace fascinated him. It was the perfect mathematical challenge for his eager brain, and could be likened to a humungous piece of chocolate cake sitting in plain view of a hungry stomach. 

Not at that moment, however. Ani was more excited by the prospect of triumphantly discovering the origin of the galaxy map.

Turning his attention back to the map in front of him, he scanned the printout for any further traces of information, but found nothing. 

No matter, though. He switched off the microscope, and shifted his weight on the stool. 

He closed his eyes and listened to the buzzing of the lights above him, the distant patter of feet running the length of the corridor outside the lab door, the whisper of the ventilation system circulating air through the sterile room, and let any hints of frustration ebb from him like a storm tide. 

He thought of Tara, always so composed and secretly eager to embrace a challenge, and found new inspiration. He lived to impress her, and imagining the look on her fair, young face when she awoke to find that he'd solved the first mystery of the summer spurred him on. He fished in a drawer beneath the table for a compass and pencil, and set to work, plotting the coordinates on an imaginary plane upon the printout.

  


***

Tara awoke to the sound of violent swearing coming from the other side of the glass partition separating the sick bay where she lay from the lab where Anakin was. Her boyfriend had thrown something metal upon the floor, where it lay glinting underneath the bright ceiling lamps, and was jumping up and down, howling angrily. Papers lay scattered upon the worktable with a collection of pencils, styluses, and various straightedge tools.

Tara checked the chronometer on her wrist – barely an hour had passed while they'd been in the lab and she'd been asleep, ridding her aching head of the last remnants of the Force flicker. Why was he being so mental? Such behavior was expected after eighteen hours of unsuccessful spatial research, not a mere hour of grade school graphing. 

Sitting upright, she tapped on the glass, attracting Ani's attention. Seeing that she was awake, he came striding over to the glass and knocked his head deliberately against it. Tara shook her own head, and was pleased to discover that she was feeling much more like herself now that she'd caught a few zees. 

"What's wrong?" she mouthed through the glass. 

Anakin screwed up his boyish face, and pulled on a lock of his unruly chestnut hair. Then, his moment past, he beckoned for her to enter the lab. 

Tara swung her feet over the edge of the bed, and slid them into the sling-back sandals she'd been wearing before she'd lain down. Then, easing herself over to the lab door, she prepared herself for Anakin's inevitable tirade about the improbability of life, science, and the universe. He had a half-memorized speech that he subjected her to every time things went wrong in one of his experiments, and though it changed slightly every time, the message was always the same.

"Ton-Ara," he started, sounding on edge, a murderous look in his eyes, "I've –" 

"I know," she interjected sarcastically. "You've looked at it inside out and upside down and you can't figure out a gosh darn thing."

She paused to give him ample time to roll his eyes at her. "You sourced the coordinates, right?" she added smoothly, trailing him over to the worktable. 

"Yes," he fumed, pacing in circles around her. "But when I went to plot them, they led to empty space!"

"Are you sure you got them right? You didn't make an error in your graphing?" Tara had now placed her hands on Anakin's hunched shoulders and begun to massage them gently.

"Yes, I did and no, I didn't. Have a look for yourself." He stepped aside, and Tara bent over the table, examining his work with a professional eye. 

He had indeed found the right coordinates, and they seemed to lead in a logical arc across several systems to the Corporate Sector, close to the base of the Tingel Arm, but Anakin wasn't lying: where there should've been a planet, there was only empty space. 

Tara frowned. "You don't suppose it could've been wiped from whatever archives the sender pulled this map from, do you?"

"Impossible," Anakin sulked. 

"Not impossible," Tara corrected him. "Nothing's impossible. Remember Camino?"

"Camino was the work of dark Jedi," Anakin said, still scowling menacingly. "Lilandra said that this map was identical to the one beneath the Galaxy Lake, which shows the galaxy exactly as it is. Assuming that whoever sent this used that as their model, even planets that have been forcefully removed from our synthetic archives would show up. You can't just _erase _a planet in realspace."

Tara raised her eyebrows. "Interesting logic, Ani. But that raises the question as to why anyone would send us a map of the galaxy in the first place. We have to assume that they must have known they were sending it to one of the foremost educational institutions in the galaxy. Wouldn't they assume that we'd have the technology to both see the galaxy for ourselves _and _decode any intercepted messages?"

"I think that's exactly what they did," Anakin said, his eyes taking on a misty, faraway look. "Whoever it was must've figured that we'd know from the off exactly what they were trying to tell us. But why disguise it as a map?"

"Obviously they feared that their message would fall into the wrong hands en route," Tara explained. She paused for a moment, examining Anakin's handiwork. "I should think that would explain your mapping dilemma. There must be some trick to these coordinates – real coordinates disguised within these false ones. It's pretty clever, if you think about it. What if you didn't want anybody but the recipient of your message knowing where you had sent it from? You'd code your location somehow, wouldn't you?"

"I don't see why you'd want to hide your whereabouts," Anakin frowned. "Seems kind of pointless in peacetime."

"Not if it wasn't sent in peacetime," Tara said quietly.

Anakin stared at her disbelievingly. "Okay, now you're _really _grabbing at straws, Jaks."

"No, think about it. It all adds up! It's sent anonymously from a location with secret coordinates, in disguise as something that looks random but serves its purpose as well. This is exactly the kind of tactic the Rebel Alliance used to use when it was informing its supporters of its each and every move – they would hide records of their movements in advertisements and personal relays. Whoever sent this must want us to decode the real coordinates, and then plot them properly on this map to reveal their location!"

Tara was looking very excited now, but Anakin was still skeptical.

"I repeat: why?"

"The peacetime theory fits perfectly: whoever sent this was in grave danger, and needed a rescue," Tara pronounced definitively. "I know what you're going to say," she added. "I can see it on your face. You're thinking, 'how can she tell it wasn't sent in peacetime? There's no evidence!' Well, I have a theory. Top secret. Give me a minute …"

And with that, she smuggled the map and the coordinates and a pencil and compass down the table, hiding it all from view behind her arms, which she folded resolutely on the tabletop. Anakin could see her scribbling something furiously on a piece of scrap, her face set in a look of intense concentration. 

Within moments, she was grinning, and Anakin had to smile as he listened to the exclamations she was making under her breath as she worked: "Ha!" "Oh …" "Aah!" … "_Of course_."

This was the most infuriating and yet lovable aspect of Tara Jaksbin's personality, and the reason Ani had been drawn to her from the very moment he'd come to realize it: something in her mind, perhaps a symptom of her Force awareness, seemed to drive her constant hunger to be the first one to figure things out in a tricky situation. It was as though success was a drug for her, a life-force, and at times her need for it was almost reckless, causing her to go to any lengths to obtain it, if only in a small dosage. Other times, she seemed to forget about it completely, perfectly happy to sit back and let someone else – usually Anakin – share the limelight for a while. And yet, here she was, in her element, scratching figures and lines and characters all over the map, racing an invisible person inside her head, desperate to finish first, even though she was the only one who really knew what she was trying so feverishly to prove.

When she'd finished, she looked up, delight written all over her face.

"Deceptively simple coding job," she commented, pushing her revised coordinates over to Anakin. "An admirable effort. See what you make of it, Expert Cartographer Solo."

He scanned her work, knowing somehow before he even fully understood her logic what she had attempted – and apparently managed – to do. 

"You fiend, you!" he whispered, grabbing her round the middle and kissing her happily on the forehead. She laughed, looking suddenly abashed. 

"It wasn't that difficult," she said, flushing red. 

"I don't know why I didn't think of it myself," Anakin mused, acknowledging his girlfriend's genius. "Of course it would be the _inverse_ … Let me map these … you're out of your mind, Tara … sheer brilliance …"

He went on like that for a moment as he excitedly plotted the new, inverted points upon the map, paving the way for Tara's focus to be drawn to a very real star system hovering on the edge of the Kathol Sector, bordering on Wild Space. 

"That's the one," Anakin said, his voice full of quiet triumph as he jabbed his finger upon the system. "Good grief," Tara murmured, leaning her head on his shoulder and peering at the map. "Exactly opposite to where we thought it was, but … I didn't think there were any habitable systems out there. Wouldn't it have been discovered by now?"

"Not if someone didn't want anyone to know it was there," Anakin said, sounding sinister. "You know, your non-peacetime theory is starting to sound awfully plausible right now, Tara."

She grinned. "And you thought you were finished with conspiracy for good this time," she chuckled, and grabbed his elbow, pulling him from the table. 

"Come on," she said eagerly. "We need to find someone who knows their galactic history."

  


They caught up with Mara in the common room, where she was curled up on the sofa under a woolen blanket, watching the news on the holoscreen. She appeared significantly less grudging than at breakfast, although it looked as though the flicker in the Force had hit her quite hard – her usually ruddy complexion was drained of color, and faint sun freckles stood out on her nose and cheeks. Even her hair seemed duller than usual, and she wore a lost expression on her wan face. She stared at the holoscreen without really seeing the pictures dancing across it, or hearing the voice of the newscaster talking about the latest holovid to hit the top grossing spot for the week's end. 

She didn't even appear to have enough strength to blink her eyes until she realized that two teenagers were sitting on the table in front of her, hand in eager hand, leaning over her with matching looks of excitement on their faces and radiating youthful exuberance. 

She snapped awake, noting that the pair must have some business with her, and summoned the energy to sit up and flatten a few wisps of hair back down against her forehead. 

"All right there, Anakin?" she asked, her voice noticeably weaker than normal. 

"Got a few questions, Aunt Mara," her nephew replied, tapping his foot anxiously against the rug beneath it. 

"Shoot," she said, cracking a feeble grin.

"Okay …"Anakin glanced down at the map in his hand, collecting his thoughts and assembling a direct question that would milk as much information from his aunt as possible in as little time as possible. Once he'd organized himself, he cleared his throat, and spoke carefully:

"When you were working for the Empire, Aunt Mara, did you ever hear anything about a … a secret planet?"

Mara frowned, and Anakin wondered briefly if he'd been wrong to think that Mara would be willing to talk candidly about the years she had spent working for the Emperor Palpatine. But she was merely formulating an equally cautious answer. 

"Can you think of a time frame, maybe? I'm getting old, you know – can't recall details as well as I used to …" she cracked a grin. This was a complete joke, Anakin knew. Mara was all of forty years old and barely showing it. She was just having some fun with him.

"I guess about … twenty years ago, at the height of the war," Tara answered.

Mara leaned back against the arm of the couch, thinking back. "A secret planet, huh? Well … such things weren't really my business. I was strictly reconnaissance – didn't hear much about the Emperor's special affairs, only about who wanted to kill him …"

"Surely you must've heard things around the Palace," Tara insisted. "Just gossip or something. We only need a small lead."

"Hmmm," Mara mused. "Actually, now that I think about it, there was something …"

She laughed as both Tara and Anakin leaned forward simultaneously, positively bursting with anticipation. 

"What do you want to know for?" she asked cautiously. "It was probably classified information at the time, and has likely stayed that way for a while now. I don't think too many Imperial higher-uppers would be too pleased with me if you two started an intergalactic uprising or something."

"Oh, it's nothing like that," Anakin laughed dismissively. "I guess Luke explained to you about the map?"

Mara's eyes took on the same haunted look as before. "Yes … odd, isn't that?"

"Very," Tara agreed earnestly. "But Anakin and I think we've traced the source of the message. We just need to give the sender or senders a motive, and we'll have a theory taking shape."

"Alright," Mara said. "I think I can help you there. I suppose it must have been at least twenty years since I last heard anything about this, but I can remember a particular year when the entire palace was a-buzz with rumors about some penal colony. I remember wondering what the big deal was – Palpatine had started penal colonies all over the place, for captured rebels and such, in the most horrible of places. I suppose people got very excited about this one because of its location. Rumor had it that Palpatine put his latest victims on a world so remote, it would take them years to return to the galactic core, should they ever even find a means of doing so. He'd taken away all their technology, all their luxuries … just thinking about it now makes my heart ache for them."

Mara stared up at the ceiling, as if trying to imagine what it must have been like, ripped from the comforts of the galaxy and stranded on a backwater for all eternity with no hope of return, no means of ordinary survival. 

Tara couldn't even begin to picture what such a place must be like. The emperor had obviously achieved new heights of vindictiveness when he had implemented _that_ plan. 

"They're probably all dead now … does that change your theory at all?" Mara asked.

"Actually, it backs it up," Tara replied, waving the map. "Ani and I have reason to believe that this message was sent a number of years ago – perhaps not _twenty_, but certainly about ten – and has been traveling across eons of time and space on its way to us. The planet you're describing perfectly fits the coordinates we've identified as well. It's entirely possible that the prisoners on the emperor's colony world sought to contact someone who could help them."

Mara considered this for a moment, but then shook her head. "How could they? They wouldn't have had the technology to even scribe that map you've got."

Tara and Anakin exchanged a glance. 

"She's got a point, Tara," Anakin said sadly, patting her knee. "It was a good thought, though."

"Looks like it's back to the drawing board," Tara sighed, and got to her feet. She was just about to thank Mara for her information when someone called "Wait!" from the common room door.

Tara turned to see Lilandra standing in the doorway, waving a thick black volume and looking very harassed but excited. The girls acknowledged each other with a glance, and Lil came hurrying over.

"Let me see that map."

Anakin handed it to her, and she scanned it, following the coordinates that he had penciled in.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "You've got the right planet. Listen – right after we noticed Alderaan's absence on the lake map last night, we both found that our focus was drawn to a planet on the outer rim – and I mean the _way_ outer rim. It seemed to have, well, some kind of emotional ambiance. Like there was so much meaning attached to it, it had to dispel some onto us."

"You don't think it was the same planet as the message origin, do you?" Anakin asked dubiously.

"That's exactly what I think. It all seems to add up, don't you think?" Lilandra shrugged. "Luke and I visit an underwater map of the galaxy, and notice a complete backwater planet above all other planets that's emanating some kind of deeply emotive aura. But get this – when we got out of the water, we didn't touch at all. We went straight back to our respective beds when we got back to the academy. But then, this morning, the first move he made towards me caused an enormous emotional disturbance in the Force, like a static shock of sensation. Simultaneously, a message arrives, bearing a map identical to the one beneath the lake – old enough to show Alderaan's absence, but not quite old enough to give us an exact idea of its sending date. Then, you plot the origin coordinates and lo and behold, they lead straight to the same planet Luke and I saw beneath the lake. This planet also happens to correspond perfectly to Mara's description of one of the emperor's top secret penal colonies, and it even fits the time frame!"

"You believe me then," Tara breathed. "That we're dealing with a cry for help from a bunch of backwater prisoners from ten years ago."

"I don't know how they did it, but they did," Lilandra said, nodding. "They must've thought that if they could find help anywhere, it would be here on Yavin, the center of rebel activity during the war. They were pretty smart, you know, if what Mara says is true …"

Lilandra shrugged.

" … They knew that if they couldn't come to us, they'd just have to get us to go to them."

  



	6. Beneath the Stellar Path

~6~

Beneath the Stellar Path

  


Just when Luke had assumed that he might finally be able to pass a night in peaceful slumber, the universe had thrown him another curve ball. What was it Tara had so prophetically pointed out? That calamity haunted the very name of Lilandra Ilkhaine. How true it was, too. She had even lived up to her infamous timing this time around.

Luke lay in bed, his eyes as round as soup tureens, reflecting the golden moonlight filtering in through a gap in the blue curtains. It had been quite the day, from his midnight stroll in the jungle with Lilandra, to the strange Force flickers, and the map, and all the pieces falling so quickly into place …

Here he was again, barely twenty-four hours later, in the same situation, operating on little more than three hours' dreamless sleep, but with one exception: Mara was also still awake.

She lay on her side, her back to him, so as to trick him into thinking that she was asleep, but Luke could tell by her shallow breathing and restless mind that she was in a state between sleep and wakefulness – thinking hard and feeling much. 

Luke wanted to talk to her, but he wasn't sure of what he should say. He knew she was upset by something, and he was sure that this time it had nothing to do with either he or Lilandra. But that was the thing – he couldn't guess this time, and he knew almost certainly that she wouldn't tell him of her own volition. 

Of course, Mara Jade had always had a way of surprising even the most confident of opponents, particularly her own husband, and she did so on this occasion when, out of nowhere, she said, quite clearly:

"Terapinn."

At first, Luke thought he'd imagined it, but no – Mara kept talking.

"I knew it had something to do with tortoises, only spelled differently …"

"Excuse me?" Luke murmured.

"That penal colony," Mara sighed. She sounded relieved that she'd gotten his attention. "It was called Terapinn."

"Palpatine _named_ it?" Luke asked incredulously. He should've guessed the one thing that could make Mara slip into a stupor this deep: mention or thought of the many years she had been known not as Mara Jade Skywalker, but as Mara Jade, the Emperor's Hand. 

"It meant something, in another language. It was that important to the Emperor," Mara replied softly, and Luke thought he heard her voice waver for a moment.

"What was so great about it? He'd imprisoned thousands before," Luke said bitterly. 

"I don't know," Mara whispered, and reached her hand behind her to take her husband's. She wouldn't look at him, lest he notice that she had tears in her eyes.

Luke squeezed her fingers, and rubbed her shoulder sympathetically with his free hand before laying a kiss on the top of her head, turning over, and closing his eyes, cutting off the steady flow of thoughts through his head and slipping away into welcoming darkness. 

  


***

  


Outside in the silent hallway, a shadow was moving, creeping stealthily over the stone tiles. At the end of the corridor, a window cast moonlight onto the cold floor, and in the rectangle of pale, washed-out light, the shadow materialized into the shape of Lilandra Ilkhaine. She held in her hands her own printout of the map.

She paused before rounding the corner, and motioned for someone lingering in the shadows to follow her. Tara appeared seconds later, shivering in the deep chill of the jungle night, although both she and Lilandra were dressed in long, white thermal sweaters and stiff black flight pants, zipped down over flat-soled boots. 

It appeared to a grudging Tara that Lilandra had decided to not sleep at all during her time at the academy, and rather spend her nights wandering the temple, looking for someone to bother with her questions and ideas and random, idealistic thoughts.

_She needs a sex life,_ Tara thought miserably, and shoved her hands into the pockets of her pants. Aloud, she asked, "Why are we doing this, Lil?"

Lilandra raised a finger to her lips to silence her, and replied softly, "Because I want to see if I can make it happen again."

"Make what happen?" Tara asked, and promptly yawned.

"The Force flicker. There are too many variables right now to come to any concrete conclusions about how the map reached us. Maybe it only works with Luke and I. Maybe it sends a physical map bearing the coordinates of _every_ planet you touch in the lake, not just the penal colony. Maybe that was just a freaky coincidence."

Tara appeared unimpressed, flopping herself down upon the windowsill. 

"Come on, Tara," Lilandra pleaded. "You're the scientist! I thought you'd be interested in this kind of stuff!"

"Not in the middle of the night," Tara whined, gazing plaintively in the direction of her apartment. "You've got the worst timing in the galaxy," she added sulkily. 

"Blame it on jet lag, okay?" Lilandra pleaded, grabbing the younger girl's hand and pulling her off the sill. 

But Tara was unyielding, planting her feet firmly on the floor.

"Hey," Lilandra frowned. "What's the matter, Jaksbin?"

"I'm _tired_," she groaned, still staring down the corridor in the direction they had come. 

Lilandra giggled suddenly. "The hell … I'll bet Anakin's spending the night at your place, that's what."

Tara gave her a strange look, while Lilandra glared back, sucking her cheeks into a perfect likeness of a fish.

This time, it was Tara's turn to giggle, leaning back on the window. "We're living together now, Lil. Sharing Ani's apartment."

"You're kidding!" Lilandra gasped, a whispered shriek. "For how long now?"

"Three months," replied Tara bashfully, lowering her eyes. 

"_Oh_, that's fantastic!" Lilandra breathed. "Why didn't you tell me, Jaksie? That's brilliant news!"

Tara waved the superlative reaction away with a flip of her wrist. "Oh, Lil – "

She stopped, stifling another embarrassed laugh, looking at a point somewhere above Lilandra's head.

Lilandra squinted confusion as the blond smirked, nodding at the wall …

Until someone gave her braid a rough yank, making her squeal aloud this time and stagger backwards into none other than Anakin Solo, clad in boxer shorts and an unbuttoned sweater.

"_Shhhh_!" Anakin hissed, doubling over with silent laughter. "By the stars, Lil – "

"_Ani_," Lilandra spat, whirling to face him with one hand clutching her left shoulder. She exhaled, indulging him with a cynical laugh. 

"Pretty weird place for you two you have a girly chat," Anakin commented, bending over and digging his fingers into his girlfriend's waist while Tara bit her lip to keep from crying out.

"_She_ wanted to go swimming again," Tara accused, pointing at Lilandra as she leaned into Anakin's arms. 

"Hey, you aren't completely blameless, blondie," Lilandra smirked. 

"Fair enough," Tara shrugged, smiling.

"What do you say, Anakin? Care to take part in my little experiment?" Lilandra urged the teenager.

"Mm, it's a tempting offer, but I'm more inclined to say 'no', Lil, considering I have to be awake again in three hours."

"Well, suit yourself, spoilsports," Lilandra grumbled good-naturedly, giving up on Tara altogether. Poking her tongue out at the young couple, she heaved open the window and climbed out into the sweet-scented, cool jungle night.

"Lil, you're nuts," Tara hissed as Lilandra pulled off her shoes and arranged them in a T-shape below the sill, a charm to deter evil spirits from entering the Academy. 

"No, I'm adventurous," Lilandra retorted, grinning. "Why don't you two lovebirds go back to your nest, then, if you're so tired?"

Tara and Anakin exchanged a weary glance, like two parents trying to understand an insolent child. 

"Come on," Tara said, shaking her head, and tugged Anakin's sleeve in the direction of their apartment. He followed quite willingly.

Outside, Lilandra skipped easily across the landing pad and passed beneath the solid darkness of the canopy. Blind to the trees at either side of her, leaning in close with curiosity, she watched for the path, which glowed faintly white in the filtered moonshine and wound away like a silken ribbon through the trees. 

As she wandered, her feet seemed to guide her of their own accord. She felt shivery, slightly nervous, distinctly aware of a presence there with her, of something she couldn't name but that felt like a memory. Her long-legged shadow crept and rippled away ahead of her, and at her sides, things flickered and darted between the trees, appearing so briefly in her periphery vision that she could not distinguish their form. She appreciated their presence all the same. 

There was a stillness to the forest that night, an uncharacteristic, hypnotic silence, and as Lilandra listened into the blackness, she soon forgot the path, the white ribbon unfolding before her, and walked as though in a dream, her motions automatic, effortlessly controlled.

She slipped easily from the cloak of night into the brilliant star-filled clearing where the _Te'am Galatsia_ sat bathed in moonlight, and, mesmerized, sat in the dirt beneath the jeweled sky and turned her face to it, feeling that the stars were close enough for their light to brush against her skin.

There seemed to be more stars visible that night than ever before, so many that they had begun to blend and blur, casting a dense milky glow across the sky. Lilandra had tried to count them once, when she was seven or eight. Then, she had never been on a space vessel, never seen how far the stars really were, how angry they seemed up close. Counting them, she collected them, claimed possession of them, picked them from the sky one by one, feeling peace filling her to her center.

She also once believed that if you laid still enough, you would be able to feel the planet moving, would be able to perceive a passage beneath the sky, or feel the vibration of the effort of moving so much mass through so little matter. But gravity was as subtle and elusive as the force that had held her beneath the waters of the lake the night before, completely unknowable, untouchable, and all at once, Lilandra felt cut free, floating suspended in a black lake of stars, as common to the fires that burned above her as the water she breathed. 

Smiling dreamily, she reached her hand towards the sky. In silhouette, her fingers seemed tiny, but infinitely powerful, and without knowing why – acting, perhaps, on behalf of the magic presence that had begun to overtake her the moment she stepped into the jungle soil – she thought again of the rogue planet in the lake, a star that needed counting, needed ownership.

She saw Luke, curling his fingers so tenderly around that tiny glowing form, promising something that neither of them understood – _wait_ – and claiming it thus as his own.

_I can do that_, Lilandra thought sleepily, still feeling somehow the rocking of the ocean in which she lay drowning in light, her hand in the sky like a signal.

Intently, her eyes sought the little planet, mapping the galaxy in lines across her vision, stepping from star to star to try and place it in the heavens. 

But there were so many, so many to choose from, and she quickly became lost in the glow, lost among the bonfires of the universe, and she snapped back down to reality with a wistful sadness. 

She was lying on her side in the mud with her arms wrapped around herself and her knees drawn up to her chest, and she realized she'd been dozing, lost in the world of dreams that were not quite dreams but visions, reflections from the other side of reality.

She rolled onto her back again, feeling unwelcomingly human. She had thought she was in the lake. Above her, the stars were cold and distant, but still unusually bright …

Lilandra sat up quickly, scrubbing her eyes, wondering if she'd just imagined that star directly above her flashing out like a lantern in the darkness. It had brightened, only for a second, and then it was gone …

Again, though, the star flashed, a lighthouse beam across the night that darkened the stars clustered around it until it shone alone in blackness and Lilandra watched with eyes wide. Further on above it, another star flashed with the other, and soon Lilandra was seeing many stars, suddenly and inexplicably brighter than the others, spread in a perfectly straight line across the sky, all the way to the visible horizon.

Lilandra let her eyes wander the stellar path above her, a bizarre constellation that seemed to point to some inevitable end: a very, very dim star just above the trees, encircled protectively by countless others. 

A smile flickered across Lilandra's lips. 

She was looking at the colony. 

She _knew_, by the behavior of the stars. The rogue planet, Palpatine's penal colony, they were one and the same, and most definitely real. 

"Now I have you," she whispered, and, stretching out her hand to the horizon, she began to laugh, disbelievingly, out of unspeakable gratitude as the stellar path proudly shone on guard above her. "Incredible."

She stared in wonder at the physical impression of the colony, its light already twenty years old at least, and at the chain of stars that had led her to view it.

"You want us to go to you, don't you," she murmured, framing the star with her fingers and smiling.

There was no response, of course, only the stars, keeping their silent and empowering watch over the universe.

  


***

  


It was Luke who found Lilandra early the next morning, on a tip from Tara and Anakin. 

She was, sure enough, curled up on her side beneath a spreading tree beside the Temple of the Galaxy. Her feet were bare and pressed together for warmth, and her sweater was smeared with mud, but her face was flushed with a sleepy joy, her mouth stretched into a smile. 

"Lil," Luke grinned, kneeling beside her and shaking her gently. "Hey, come on, up and at 'em, starshine."

The mention of the word 'starshine' seemed to trigger something, and Lilandra's eyes snapped open, wild with excitement. She was sitting in an instant, a flood of incomprehensible words pouring from her mouth.

"Luke!" she shouted, grabbing his collar. "Luke, I saw it! The stars showed me – it really exists, it exists, that colony, it's over there!"

She pointed one trembling finger to the horizon beyond the temple, where the trees were shadowed beneath the pink and yellow bower of sunrise. There were no stars visible in the pastel sky. 

"What are you saying? Are you ill, child?" Luke chided her, pulling her to her feet, which tangled beneath her.

"No! I was stargazing, and I … I saw things. The stars, there were seven of them. They got brighter, and they formed a line across the sky and I followed it over there, and I knew, I knew in my heart it was the colony. Luke, we have to go! The stars want us to go!"

Lilandra stopped, her face falling when the anticipated comprehension did not register with her teacher.

"You have to take me seriously. I _saw_ it happen."

Luke frowned. "Are you sure it wasn't a dream?"

"Even if it _was_, it was so vivid. The other stars all seemed to dim, and the brightest seven formed a path, straight to this dim little star way on the horizon … oh, Luke, what else could it mean? We _have_ to go. There's something there for us, we have to."

_Terapinn. It was called Terapinn._

_Te'am Galatsia_.

"This is all too bizarre for words, Lil," Luke mumbled, rubbing his forehead. "Mara knows the colony exists. Last night, she said it had a name that meant something in a different language. Terapinn."

"What language?" Lilandra asked.

"I don't know. I've never encountered it before. It occurred to me that I don't know what language _te'am galatsia_ comes from either. Only that the words mean 'temple' and 'galaxy'."

Lilandra stared pointedly at him. "They're connected somehow, Luke. It's all connected somehow. The lake, the temple, the map, the colony. Somehow."

"And now you're having nutty dreams about star charts," Luke sighed. 

Lilandra felt a flash of annoyance. "Why are you resisting, Luke?" she demanded. "I thought you were 'craving change'. Well, here it is, written in stone," she added, gesturing impatiently at the temple. 

Luke narrowed his eyes. 

"I'll take the lesser of two evils in this case, Lilandra. I don't _need_ any more complication in my life. I've about reached my limit already, and the last thing I need is to go off on some wild chase because _you_ think I should."

Lilandra stepped back a bit, opening her mouth to most likely hurl a retaliatory insult at him but thinking better of it. Instead, she clamped her lips shut and glared at him, and Luke knew that he'd hurt her with that comment, though he hadn't intended to. Truthfully, the last thing he needed was Lilandra giving him the cold shoulder as well. 

She seemed to understand that, and forced herself to calm down, but not, by any stretch of the imagination, back down.

"Maybe what you need is to forget about yourself for once," was the reply she eventually decided on. 

Then, that said, she turned on her heel and marched back onto the path, hugging her arms around herself for warmth, leaving Luke staring wonderingly after her.

He sighed again once her hard footsteps had retreated into silence, and leaned on the tree she had slept beneath. Still, even when he closed his eyes, tiny stars of exhaustion winked behind his eyelids, and he had to open them again.

_You can't stall forever, Skywalker_, Lilandra taunted him mentally from somewhere in the jungle. _Your word settles the issue._

_Get lost, Ilkhaine,_ he retorted, scuffing his boot in the smooth dirt.

He stood there for a moment longer, watching the sun finally heave itself over the canopy, the last of the stars succumbing to the dawn. Then, he launched himself off of the tree trunk, and ran until he caught up with Lilandra, halfway to the Academy already.


	7. Mission Meeting

~7~

Mission Meeting

  


Breakfast was an unusually quiet affair, as every person around the table seemed to be occupied with their own private thoughts, although an irresistible air of excitement hung about them. Tara and Anakin, evidently in one of their more passionate moods, kept exchanging bashful glances, as though neither one could believe that they had been so lucky as to find such a worthy/intelligent/attractive/mostly superlative partner, and Lilandra could only assume that what they'd gotten up to after returning to bed the night before had somehow led to their renewed fascination with each other. 

Mara gazed solemnly at the table, pushing her porridge around her bowl and succeeding in transmogrifying it into a white, pulpy soup that had a thin film of milk floating on its surface, while Luke appeared lost in concentrated though, a serious expression on his face. 

Lilandra knew better than to attempt a conversation, knowing full well that if she did, it would inevitably turn to the map. This was not a bad thing, in her mind, but clearly, the others were having a difficult time believing the previous day's events. It seemed almost as if they'd written the whole experience off to some strange, collective dream that became slightly embarrassing in its irrationality during the daylight hours. 

Consequently, she had not been able to bring herself to tell anybody else about the visions that had haunted her in the forest. She feared that the absurdity of her dreams would sufficiently disturb them enough to dispel any adventurous thoughts they might themselves be harboring. 

She had also noticed that everyone else had failed to notice Kerryna's absence from the table this morning. It was not unusual for Kerryna to skip meals, of course, but Lilandra's mind flashed back to dinner the night before. Kerryna had been silent throughout the meal, true to form, but Lilandra had noticed that her sister had seemed whiter than usual, more tense as she listened to the excited conversations with avid attention. 

Jacen, who was sitting beside Lilandra this morning, noticed the senator gazing absently at the empty chair her sister normally filled, and leaned over. 

"Kerryna feeling alright?" he asked. 

"She must've had a stale cruller for dessert last night," Lilandra whispered back. "You're slipping, Jace."

He chuckled softly. "I swear there was one that looked exactly like Yoda in last night's batch – ears and everything."

Lilandra giggled, and spooned some more porridge into her mouth. 

Jaina, on her other side, tipped her head back and emptied the contents of the bottom of her bowl down her throat, and chased them down with the last gulp of her juice, belching with an air of contentment.

"Darling, that was superb," Dave said admiringly, cuffing her shoulder while Tara looked appalled. 

She shrugged demurely, flipping a lock of her brown hair over her shoulder and winking sidelong at Lil.

Dave and Jaina seemed to be the only other Jedi in the room who were just as excited about the map and the prospect of possible adventure as Lilandra was – the trio spent the remainder of the meal exchanging thrilled glances until Luke stood, cleared his throat, and said, "Right … I'd like to have a word with you all in the war room after breakfast, if you could."

He appeared to want to say more, but then lost his nerve for some unknown reason, and strode from the room, his cloak billowing behind him. Everyone turned surreptitiously to look at Mara; she simply watched him go, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts.

  


The group assembled in the war room shortly afterwards, maps and datapads and styluses in hand, ready to hear what Luke had to say to them. 

Lilandra took her seat on a wooden bench near the front of the room, before a lopsided podium and dusty riser, upon which Luke stood, fidgeting nervously. Lil knew he didn't like public speaking, but there was something else plaguing him – perhaps Mara's expressionless face at Lilandra's right hand. She felt a tiny twinge of annoyance towards the woman. If she was planning to dash everyone's unspoken hopes for a bit of summer galactic exploration …

Lilandra forced her fists to unclench, knowing that she was being highly unreasonable, for Luke had conceded nothing in the forest, and busied herself with explaining the map to Jacen, who sat on her left. 

One by one, the Jedi filed in – Tara and Ani sat behind Lilandra and Jacen, with Jaina and Dave across the narrow aisle between the two rows of benches. Leia had come out of curiosity, having caught wind of the happenings of yesterday by way of one of her children, most likely. Han Solo hovered in the doorway behind her, looking jovial, as he always did when the Jedi started in with their 'quaint' religious practices. Lilandra heard Jaina hiss something under her breath, and knew that Dave was shooting scathing glances at his noticeably armed father-in-law. 

Before the visual tensions between Dave and Han had a chance to come to verbal blows (and not for the first time), Luke straightened up slightly at the podium, and called for attention. Lilandra caught his eye, and gave him an encouraging smile, which he didn't return. The room's occupants lapsed into attentive silence, and Lilandra noticed worriedly that once again, Kerryna had failed to be present. She had no further opportunity to dwell on this, however, because Luke had started speaking.

"Well," he said, "I'm assuming you all know why I've assembled you here this morning, so I won't elaborate too much on that, except to remind some of you who were less involved in yesterday afternoon's proceedings of the situation at hand."

At this, Leia leaned forward, looking intrigued.

"As it stands, we appear to have made some sort of contact with the unknown prisoners of an Imperial penal colony, situated roughly between the outer rim of the Kathol Sector and the region known as wild space – or rather, the prisoners have successfully made contact with us. However, we have reason to believe that the message intercepted yesterday was not a recent one. Rather, it appears to have been sent anywhere from eight to ten *_years* _ago, meaning that it traveled to us by very primitive means unknown.

"Now, based on the information I've been able to collect from various sources – " 

Here he paused and glanced at Mara.

" – It seems that the world in question is Terapinn, a top-secret project of the Empire's from about twenty years ago. Only those among Emperor Palpatine's upper echelons were informed of the specifics of the project, which included the capture and transport of prisoners of war to the planet Terapinn on the outskirts of the galaxy, where they were to be left with no technology, no provisions, and no means of returning to the inhabited parts of the galaxy. As we've received what we perceive to be a call for help from these people, it seems that the project was carried out, although not entirely to plan, it appears. 

"No one is certain of the reason for the imprisonment of these individuals, nor is there any existing record of their identities that we know of. Whoever they were, the Emperor wanted to be entirely certain that the galaxy would never hear from them again. All we know is that ten years ago, they found a means of contacting someone they believed would come to their aid, be that a representative of the Rebel Alliance, or possibly someone else they thought to be inhabiting this moon at that time."

Luke stopped for a moment, allowing all of this to sink into the heads of the people in front of them. Tentatively, Lilandra raised her hand for an opportunity to speak. Luke shot her a severe glance, which Lilandra returned with a snarl of her own. 

"Forgive me," she started firmly, then softened to ask, "but wasn't the war over by then?"

"Yes and no," Luke replied, looking almost relieved. "Some claim that the war ended when Palpatine died, but most readily forget the fifteen years' battle against his many seconds-in-command: Grand Admiral Thrawn, Admiral Daala, and the others who attempted to recreate his dictatorship in his stead. Which leads me to assume that even though the prisoners of Terapinn had no means of knowing what was going on in the outside galaxy, they were smart enough to realize that whoever was attempting to overthrow the Empire at the time they were exiled was probably still trying to do so ten years on."

"They really overestimated the Empire's abilities, then," Han scoffed from the door, drawing a nervous tittering from the crowd. 

"That's beside the point," Luke said sternly, attracting focus again. "The point is, we are now faced with a choice, and the path we decide upon depends on two possibilities: firstly, the possibility that there may still be people living on Terapinn, and secondly, the possibility that with our advanced hyperspace technologies, we may be able to reach Terapinn not within ten years, but perhaps a day or two at most."

Lilandra couldn't help but smile; perhaps Luke was not as self-absorbed as he'd presented himself to her that morning. He'd considered the meaning of her visions, the implications that there were forces at work here greater than any they had been able to master, and he was prepared to act on them … if only the others would. 

A quick glance around the room told Lilandra that most of them had made up their minds the minute the map had arrived – that if there were indeed survivors of Palpatine's madness still out there somewhere, the only humane course of action that wouldn't leave them with a lingering feeling of guilt would be to go to them. Or, on the other hand, if it turned out that they were all dead – for a lot could happen in ten years, Lilandra knew – it was still reasonable for them to assume the grim task of returning the remains to their rightful homes in the galaxy. Whatever the case, Lilandra knew, as Luke seemed to know, they would be going to Terapinn this summer. It was just a matter of deciding exactly who would go, and how soon.

"I think you all understand the situation at hand," Luke said solemnly, "and the only task that remains is to decide the following: that is, who will stay, and who will go."

He let this extraordinary pronouncement sink into the heads of his comrades for a moment before speaking again. 

"Now, Mara and I talked this over briefly before breakfast this morning, and envisioned something of a schematic for the impending journey. Because of its highly advanced hyperdrive and fueling capacity, we feel that the _Jadesaber_ would be the most capable ship for traveling the distance to Terapinn. The _Jadesaber _has room for a crew of seven: naturally, myself and Mara will be accompanying the remaining five to pilot the ship and act as chaperones, if need be."

"That's rich," Jacen hissed to Lilandra, who glanced sideways at a stiff-faced Mara. "Those two need chaperones more than we do, or they're liable to kill each other on a journey that long."

"Shh!" Lilandra scolded him, giggling quietly. "Let him finish."

"We need five other crew members of various capabilities to accompany us on the journey, and luckily, we have a very qualified bunch of students here with us – more than enough to have five make the actual trip to Terapinn, and four to stay back as a safety net. We'll have messaging equipment aboard the _Jadesaber _that we hope will be at least slightly more immediate than whatever the Terapinn prisoners have available, should we need to relay home in an emergency.

"So, without further ado, I'll inform you of the decisions I have reached concerning the ideal crew for this journey, and some of the people we have in mind. We need: a diplomat and linguist – someone who is good at reasoning with people and who knows a few languages. Both Mara and myself are good with languages, but rubbish at negotiations, and Leia, as the Chief of State, is needed here on Yavin to deal with galactic politics. That leaves you, Lilandra," Luke said, looking at her. "It's only fair that you should come along anyway, being something of a visionary for this entire mission." He gave her a wry wink, as if to say,

"At least with you around, we'll expect disaster – it won't come as such a surprise."

Lilandra grinned, pleased. 

"We also need another two pilots. The four of us – Mara, the others, and myself – will take it in six-hour shifts in the cockpit, flying and hyper-navigating, then six hours to rest while the other pair takes over. Jaina, Anakin – you're both checked out with General Antilles at Rogue Squadron as registered pilots and hyperspace navigators. What do you say?"

Jaina and her younger brother exchanged a glance before giving Luke the thumbs-up.

"Excellent. Now, as an aside to that, we need two people on the ground here at Yavin, tracking our motions. We'll outfit the _Jadesaber_ with a homing device – Dave?"

"I'm on it, Luke," Dave nodded. 

"Great. The tracking equipment in this room can pick up the device. We need two people who are familiar with it to check it at regular intervals during the day and night."

"I can help there, Uncle Luke," Jacen offered. "Dad and I – we know the stuff inside out and backwards."

Luke gave Jacen a questioning look. "And the flight to Terapinn doesn't interest you?" he asked. "We could have use for your talents aboard the _Jadesaber_."

"Nah," Jacen said, waving his hand dismissively. "Besides, the people here would go hungry if I left."

Luke grinned. "All right. That means we've got an opening for a technician aboard the ship. We've got Anakin, but we need a co-technician, in case something breaks down while he's in the cockpit. What do you say, Dave?"

"Cool," Dave said, and Jaina looked happy. 

Lilandra risked a glance at Han's reaction to this – he also seemed very happy to be rid of his son-in-law for a couple of weeks. 

"That leaves one post," Luke said, looking more pleased than he had half an hour before. "And that's a doctor." He looked straight at Tara. "You might find yourself faced with the most unpleasant task of all of us if there prove to be no survivors, or you might have the easiest job of all, that being nothing."

"I think I'm up to the challenge," Tara said, slipping her hand in Anakin's. 

"Good," said Luke, and his smile was full of pride. "That settles it, then. We'll depart as soon as everything is in order, which shouldn't take more than a day or two. Meaning that those of you who don't have preparatory tasks to be performing should be packing your things and reading up on your history. These prisoners, when and if we find them, will undoubtedly have many questions. Our most important job is to be as sympathetic and understanding as possible. These will be very scared and vulnerable people – I trust you don't need much more practice with how to deal with such people. You're all highly experienced and qualified in your various professions, but above all, you are representatives of the finest academy in the galaxy. Do live up to that reputation.

"Now, is everyone clear? Seven flight crew, four ground personnel – "

"Four?" Jaina asked. "I only counted three."

"There should be four," Luke frowned. "Who have we forgotten? There's Han, Leia, and Jacen, and …"

"Oh, Kerryna!" Lilandra blurted out, and jumped up from her bench.

There was a long, awkward silence, during which everyone looked nervously at Lilandra, and then at Luke, to see what he would prescribe.

"Well …" he began.

"She wasn't here," Jaina said quickly. "It's her own fault that she missed it. All the positions have been filled. Sorry, Lil." She gave Lilandra a supercilious look, thinly disguised as sympathy.

Lilandra frowned. She understood why none of her friends were very keen to have a former Dark Lord on their mission team, but what would Kerryna think when she found out?

"We'll talk later, Lilandra," Luke said, and raised his arms to dismiss the meeting.

Lilandra was first to hurry from the hall, eager to find her sister and fill her in on the recent happenings. She must know about the map, Lilandra thought, but stopped abruptly as she saw a flash of loose, dark blonde curls and a flat-soled boot disappearing around the corner ahead and up the roof stairs. She felt a flash of guilt as she realized that, of course, Kerryna had been listening at the door the whole time. 


	8. Into Hyperspace

~8~

Into Hyperspace

  


The next two days passed in a heady blur, as the academy buzzed with excitement over the impending mission. Everyone was pulling their weight double-time, each student preparing in the best ways they knew how.

Dave could be found in the hangar bay at all hours of the day and night, tuning the _Jadesaber _with Jaina and sometimes Luke or Mara at his side, dictating instructions, rattling off procedures and tests and improvements that had to be performed until the ship had been stripped down, reassembled, and then had a running over with the fine-toothed comb of Luke's mechanical scrutiny. 

Anakin and Tara had ransacked the laboratory and stocked the _Jadesaber _with all the portable medical supplies they could cram into the back of the ship's cargo hold. There were Bacta Buckets – an invention of Tara's for smaller injuries – and boxes of other small treatments, as well as a collection of battery-operated monitors, flasks and test tubes, and a large store of batteries. Tara's instruments were packed in her bag of belongings, while Anakin smuggled a datapad and several styluses into his case for his own amusement.

Jacen moved himself into the kitchen, preparing and drying an immense store of rations for the crew of the _Jadesaber _as well as an army of several hundred more, while Lilandra pored over vast numbers of history texts, searching for any information on Terapinn or the people who had inhabited it for twenty years. 

Through it all, Mara haunted the hallways, barking orders and carrying things to and from her ship's cargo hold until the only things that remained to be packed onto it were its crew of seven eager young adults and their two guardians. 

As the second day drew to a close, the anticipation had escalated to a fever pitch, until the common room was full of students who had nothing better to do with their time and energy but to sit around discussing the mission. 

Lilandra sat on the window seat, restlessly kicking her foot against its side as she pressed her forehead to the warm glass. Dave and Luke were out there with the _Jadesaber,_ which had been moved onto the landing pad that afternoon and now sat gleaming in the brilliant glow of a fiery Yavin sunset. Luke had come in earlier, just after dinner, to announce that the group would be departing at midnight. This had displeased some, but Lilandra didn't mind. At least she wouldn't have to bother with falling asleep and then being grumpy upon her awakening. Midnight was no problem for Lilandra, who had stumbled through the last few days on little more than four or five hours of sleep a night. 

She was almost looking forward to sleeping on the _Jadesaber_. In space, there was nothing to distract you but your own thoughts, and travelers were advised to keep those to a minimum. People had been known to be driven crazy on long flights in the past, with nothing to keep them from reliving their worst memories as the uncomfortable blur of hyperspace streaked past the viewscreen at a nauseating speed. It was easier to curl up and go into a warm hibernation until your feet were returned safely to the ground. 

As Lilandra watched Luke hoisting Dave up onto the hull of the _Jadesaber _with the aid of a flimsy-looking scaffold, she found her thoughts turning again to her sister. 

Kerryna had not been seen since the morning of the meeting, when Lilandra had seen her fleeing for the roof of the academy. She had gone to Ker's apartment later that afternoon, but her sister had not answered her frantic knocking. Lilandra had written her sister's odd behavior off to a little bit of resentment at being left out of the proceedings, and yet …

Her further isolation left much to be considered. But as Lilandra watched through disbelieving eyes, Kerryna herself slipped quietly from her first-floor apartment window, and headed over to the unused doorway in front of Leia and Han's corner suite. Barred and boarded, the enclave contained only Jaina's woven hammock, which was suspended a few feet off the ground and nailed to the brick wall. It was the shadiest outdoor nook to be found on the academy grounds, but Jaina owned that corner. It was doubtful that she would be pleased to find Kerryna lounging in her hammock.

As quietly as possible, Lilandra unlatched the common-room door, and sauntered out into the stifling humidity of the evening. It was time for her to have a chat with her brooding older sister. 

Kerryna was sprawled in the hammock, dressed all in black, a pair of mirrored shades perched jauntily on the end of her upturned nose. She held a cup of water in one of her long hands, and Lilandra saw her pop something white into her mouth and chase it down with a deep drink as she approached.

The trees at the edge of the landing pad began to whisper among one another, passing secrets unknown along the row, and a sudden breeze stirred the sheet of paper Kerryna held in her other hand: Lilandra's copy of the galaxy map.

"What are you doing?" Lilandra asked, trying to sound casual and uninterested as she entered the shade of the doorway.

"Looking at your map," Kerryna answered plainly, pushing her shades up on her forehead. 

"Where did you –?"

"You left it in the common room last night."

"Oh."

Lilandra paused for a moment to regroup. It was hard to talk to Kerryna sometimes – twenty-three years with the Empire had left her with a lingering habit of talking quickly, never being one to waste a moment of her own time. It made her sound always as though she was in a hurry, or bored with the conversation, which was highly intimidating. Lilandra had thought she was used to it by now, but her sister's tendency towards succinctness sometimes caught her off guard. 

"Any particular reason you're looking at my map?" Lilandra asked. 

"Nope," Kerryna replied, still not looking at her. 

The trees suddenly rustled loudly, plainly disagreeing with her. 

"Ker, what's bothering you? You've been acting really weird lately."

"I told you, it's nothing. There's nothing." 

Kerryna looked up, fixing Lilandra with an intimidating stare. "Go on, get away. Don't you have to pack or something?"

"I've got time," Lilandra said shortly, not budging. 

Kerryna sighed impatiently. "Listen to me, Little – you just go on your adventure and take care of yourself, and I'll worry about me, alright? Sound good? You can't take care of everybody all the time, Lil."

"By the Force," Lilandra moaned. "You sound like mom … pick one," she added, catching her mistake.

Kerryna arched one delicate eyebrow. "Yeah, well, as your senior, I'm entitled. Show a little respect."

"Show a little _love_!" Lilandra cried, exasperated. "I'm the one showing a little _concern_! You're just sulking about because you haven't been invited into all the excitement yet."

Kerryna closed her eyes. "Please. If I'd wanted to go, I would've asked. I'll leave the heroic rescue operation in your friends' capable hands, thanks."

Lilandra was slightly off-put by the sarcasm in her sister's voice. "You really don't have faith in the Jedi yet, do you?" she said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.

"I'm getting there. I just disagree with the way you're all haring off into danger yet again."

"Who says it's dangerous?" Lilandra asked, taken aback. It didn't seem that anyone had considered that their little mission might actually involve some risks. "We're just doing the right thing, that's all."

Kerryna stared at her. 

"Listen to me, Lil," she said. "What you're doing is a _good _thing, but it's not necessarily the right thing. There's a difference, you know."

Lilandra frowned. "I understand that there are probably a lot of things we've forgotten to guard ourselves against, but can't you just be happy for once that we're doing our best to make peace? It wouldn't kill you to try."

The two women glared at each other for a moment, but it was Kerryna who folded first.

"I'm sorry, Lilandra. Just … have a good time. Relax. You're on vacation. Don't go biting off more than you can chew." 

She fell silent for a moment, examining the map. "Remember, though – a Force-flicker and a crumpled map are nothing to change your beliefs over. Promise me you'll remember that?"

There was a suggestion of desperation in Kerryna's voice that Lilandra found completely unnecessary, but she nodded anyway, and turned to leave, facing the _Jadesaber_, which gleamed with its surface set aflame by the bold orange of sunset.

"Bye, Ker."

"See you later," Kerryna replied with a halfhearted wave. "Don't talk to strangers."

Lilandra looked over her shoulder, smiling, and shook her head before sauntering off towards the hangar bay to torture someone else. 

Kerryna watched her go, taking note of the younger woman's energetic, confident stride, from the suggestive sway of her hips to the loose swing of her arms and the careful placement of each foot, perfectly aligned alongside the other.

_ Strange life she must lead,_ Kerryna thought, bringing her eyebrows together behind her glasses, which she returned to her nose. _She never stops trying to read between the lines, never gets enough of trying to be big all the time … she doesn't understand that it's okay to be small._

Kerryna sighed, and turned the map over in her hands, fingering the thickly inked corner of it where Terapinn was a dim splash of white, appearing almost as a misprint, insignificant. 

For one terrible moment, Kerryna had the urge to scream after her sister,_ what are you doing?_

But the notion passed, and she felt only a sense of urgency that she knew she had to obey. 

"Lil!" she called weakly, waving the map wildly when Lilandra turned on her heel and gave Kerryna an impish gaze.

"What?" Lil yelled back impatiently.

"Come here. I have something for you."

Lilandra jogged reluctantly back over to the hammock, shaking her head in exasperation.

"What?"

"Here." Kerryna dug in her pocket for something. "It just occurred to me that you might need this. You know, just to keep you grounded."

Mystified, Lilandra extended her hand to take the small, round object Kerryna held out to her. 

It was a ring, silver, and doubled-banded. The two small, interlocked circles were carved with an ornate design, presumably the writing of an ancient language, lost to the modern galaxy but copied for an air of opulence about the piece of jewelry.

"A ring, Ker?"

"I've had it forever," she said. "I... don't need it anymore, but I thought you might like it."

Lilandra eyed her suspiciously. She had tossed off her explanation dismissively, but there was a definite hint of sadness in her voice that made Lilandra hesitate.

"Why? I mean, why now?"

Kerryna pressed her lips together. "I know you like that girly-girl stuff, and you're going to be living on the fly again for a while now, I guess … now you can have your fun, wherever the hell it is you're going."

Lilandra smirked. "Thanks, Ker. You always know what to get me." 

Kerryna gazed up at her for a moment longer, studying that face that was a younger copy of her own, before she spoke again.

"You know when you were small, when all your little friends would dress up in their mothers' clothes and pretend to be princesses, you would do the same, except you'd pretend to be a judge. Not a princess. A judge."

Lilandra gave her a strange look, smiling at the memory just the same.

"Just because I'm not there doesn't mean I'm not watching you," Kerryna winked. "I'll know if you misbehave."

"You really freak me out sometimes, Occot, you know that?" Lilandra grinned.

Kerryna winked with her other eye. 

"But that's pretty special," her sister added. "Try not to hurt yourself."

"Aw, get the hell out," Kerryna laughed.

Sticking her tongue out at Kerryna, Lilandra turned on her heel again and headed for the _Jadesaber_.

"I won't miss you!" she called over her shoulder.

"Love you, too!" Kerryna replied, waving lazily. 

Lilandra hugged her arms around herself as she reached the common room door, shivering in the fan's sudden blast but feeling warmed on the inside as she realized that, joking aside, Kerryna had meant her words.

  


That night, at five minutes to midnight, under an inky sky splashed with silver, the mission crew boarded the _Jadesaber_, subdued into silence by the magnitude of what they were about to do. 

Luke and Mara manned the cockpit, taking the first flying shift and the first hyperspace jump, while Jaina, Anakin, and the others strapped themselves into the jump seats in the corridor between the cockpit and the lounge.

Lilandra sat across from Jaina and Dave, beside Anakin and Tara, feeling strangely isolated.

Luke came into the back to check that everyone was secure, and then addressed the group.

"Here's how it's going to go," he informed them quietly. "The first jump will take us six hours and drop us somewhere around Bimmisaari. Anakin and Jaina will take over for the second short hop to Bothawui, and Mara and I will handle the jump to Tatooine, where we'll land to refuel. After that, it's just a few short hours to Terapinn."

Everyone nodded, and Luke smiled. "Good stuff. Let's get this show on the road."

He vanished back through the circular passage to the cockpit, sealing off the door, and moments later, a vibration started up beneath the floor – the _Jadesaber _was ready for liftoff. 

Lilandra felt a pang of jealousy as Dave leaned over and kissed Jaina lovingly on the mouth as she leaned back in the jump seat and shut her eyes.

_You've got the whole galaxy to love, _she reminded herself. 

_But it's not the same, _another voice put in. _You're the only single woman on this mission. You have a divine human right to be jealous._

Lilandra closed her eyes, shutting out the soft yellow glow of the globe lamps mounted on the wall, concentrating on the feeling of lift, the sensation of flight, of moving ahead.

_Someday soon,*_she promised herself to end the argument between her head and her heart. _Someday soon I'll make an effort to meet someone._

The minutes passed in silence, and gravity began to press down upon Lilandra's chest. A minute or two more, and the lamps upon the walls began to flicker before finally going out as the _Jadesaber _gave a great lurch, throwing Lilandra against her restraints and then back into the couch cushions again. They had made the jump into hyperspace; they were on their way.


	9. Fixer's Liquor

~9~

Fixer's Liquor

  


"This ship is boring," Jaina announced, pulling off her helmet as she stormed through the cockpit door with Anakin following suit. It was the second day following their departure from Yavin, and Jaina and Ani had just successfully completed the hyper-jump from Bothawui. The _*Jadesaber*_ was now streaming along the Corellian Passage, blazing ahead towards the Outer Rim with Luke and Mara at the helm. 

Lilandra glanced down from where she lay, nestled in blankets on her top bunk. Six hours of hyperspace navigation had taken their toll on Jaina, as well as Anakin – both of them appeared drained, their faces pale and their eyes oddly sparkly under the glow of the lounge lamps. Lilandra noticed that Anakin was staggering, as though he'd forgotten how to use his legs properly. He collapsed upon the bunk beneath Lilandra, and buried his face in the mattress, groaning. 

Jaina, although she appeared slightly disoriented, headed to one of the couches and stretched out, long legs perched on the armrest. "I'm bored," she reiterated, tossing the helmet to one side. 

Lilandra nodded in silent agreement. She had whiled away the past twelve hours lying in a state of relative catatonia on her bunk, reading history text after history text. Imperial war journals, ragged Alliance tactic guides, hand-bound and falling apart, and endless archived databases of the names of those 'lost' during the war. 

She had come across several startling entries – her adoptive parents, for example, who had been killed in an air raid when Lilandra was sixteen – but none that suggested that the bearers of the names had been imprisoned on a secret penal colony. 

There was a cause of death listed for each and every one of the names she had found, everything from 'killed in action' to 'tortured', the latter unspecified, leaving the gruesome details to the reader's own imagination. 

If the individual had been captured and imprisoned, there was an option referring Lilandra to the database of registered colonies – but most of those persons had either died on the journey, or simply never been found when the colonies had been liberated seven years ago. Whoever Terapinn's clientele happened to be, they were undoubtedly the galaxy's best-kept secret. 

Pushing her datapad aside, Lilandra sat up and scrubbed at her eyes. A headache was threatening to explode behind them, and she knew she ought to give it a rest for a bit. She swung her legs down over the side of the bunk, and surveyed the room.

Beneath her, Anakin was lying face up, looking tired, but too stunned to sleep. Seeing through hyperspace for extended periods of time tended to do that to a person. Lilandra had never been able to properly see the dimensions of hyperspace – odd, because Jedi usually made good navigators – but she'd heard stories of what the real professionals saw behind the uncomfortable blur that most people saw. 

Hyperspace was a vast, gray mass, dotted with the inverted black pinpricks of stars. The average person would be able to see that much, flashing past the viewscreen at a speed so fantastic that the scene appeared to be nothing more than a dark, mottled blur. 

But proper navigators saw another realm. Set against the unnervingly pale backdrop of space seen from the inside out, there were impossible numbers of channels that appeared as colorful, shimmering rips in the foreground of hyperspace. It was important to time a jump just so, in order to slip through one of these channels, which could deposit you across hundreds of thousands of miles of realspace in little more than an hour or two. 

The channels were visible only in hyperspace, and only the ones that were colored a deep, inviting blue were safe for passage. Hyperspace navigators possessed the remarkable ability to distinguish color in hyperspace where most people saw only black and white, and understood that a channel colored anything but blue was likely to drop them out in the accretion field of a black hole, or send them tearing straight through the core of a neighboring star.

Timing a jump was nastily exhausting work, however – it required a certain awareness of the future, and the ability to mathematically predict when a safe channel would open to the place you wanted to go in the place you wanted to jump from. That was why Jedi usually made good navigators – their awareness of the energy that hyperspace expended before opening a channel allowed them to prepare many minutes in advance. Han Solo had been one of the rare non-Force-aware individuals who could see and safely navigate hyperspace in his heyday, but consciousness of hyperspace tended to decrease with age. Lilandra doubted that Han was able to see much anymore, which was why he had chosen to train his children in the art of 'Seeing'.

Both Jaina and Anakin were extremely capable navigators, but the jumps still took a lot out of them. Navigation was a highly stressful chore, and sapped a lot of energy from those who attempted it. The experience of hyperspace itself in turn left the navigator bewildered, stunned – hence Anakin's unblinking look of astonishment. 

In several years, once Anakin had gained more experience with hyperspace, it would cease to affect him. But until then, it was rather amusing to watch him gaping up at the bottom of Lilandra's mattress, seeing nothing but the miraculous apparitions he had observed while traversing the hyperspace channel from Bimmisaari to Bothawui. 

"He alright?" Dave asked, coming in from the cargo hold through a rearward door, his mouth full of nutrition bar, and jerked his thumb at Anakin.

"Just finished a jump," Lilandra explained. "He'll live."

"Ah. No worries. Just looks a little, well … scary, doesn't he?"

Dave wandered to the coffeine dispenser, twirling a mug around two fingers, and began to pour. 

"Yeah," Lilandra agreed, hanging off the end of the bed and goggling down at Anakin. He flicked his gaze to her for a moment, but remained silent. 

"Good jump, Jains?" Dave asked, ruffling his wife's hair and pushing her feet aside to clear a space to occupy.

"Uneventful," Jaina shrugged. She was much more used to hyperspace than her brother. "We'll be hitting Tatooine within the hour, though."

Tara emerged from the bathroom just in time to hear Jaina utter these casual words, and the temperature in the room seemed to fall several degrees as its occupants noted the look on the doctor's face.

Lilandra had never seen Tara look like that before in the five years that she'd known the girl. 

Tara had adopted a rather tragic air during the last few days, floating about the lounge and the cargo bay with an expression of sorrowful whimsy on her pretty face, stopping every so often to heave a sigh. She spent a lot of time alone in her bunk, separate from her boyfriend, with her various texts and journals propped up on the wall before her, but Lilandra often caught her eyes wandering, indicating that the sharp mind behind them had lapsed to thoughts of more emotional matters. 

Thoughts of Terapinn and the state of the people they might find had apparently reduced her to a pale specter topped with a mass of loose blonde curls, though Lilandra had suspected there was more to it than her own gruesome imagination. 

Now, standing paralyzed in the door to the bathroom, holding a glass of water in one shaking hand, her sorrow had escalated to a crushing fear, underscored by a thick, simmering rage, and it had never been more apparent that it was not Terapinn that had prompted her to sleep in bunk separate from Anakin, avoid any non-perfunctory social contact, and bury herself in the logic of science, but something much more personal.

She looked up at Jaina now, looking more disastrous than usual – and, Lilandra thought, like she might bolt and make a run for the emergency hatch at any given second.

"Tatooine?" she asked.

"What's wrong with Tatooine?" Anakin asked, finally raising his head.

Curious, Lilandra tried to gage Tara's reaction. She and Anakin were a notoriously secretive couple, but her expression when she registered her boyfriend's presence in the room significantly narrowed the field of options as to the reason for her melancholy in Lilandra's mind.

Tara glared, her lips pulled tight and pressed together. "Nothing," she replied tersely. "I like Tatooine as much as the next person."

"You're a weirdo, Jaks," Anakin commented affectionately, sitting up. "Are you getting hyperspace sickness or something?"

Lilandra cast a hesitant glance at Jaina, who shook her head as if to ward off comment. Jaina was much more up-to-date on the Solo-Jaksbin affair than Lilandra was.

"I was just clarifying the Tatooine thing, Solo," Tara replied icily. "I think you're the one with the hyperspace sickness."

"Ooh," input Dave. "Geek warfare!"

An indignant gasp escaped Tara's lips. She ignored Dave. 

"So what's the big deal with Tatooine?" Anakin asked, making a concerted effort to stay calm. It could definitely be said that no one could get him riled up like Tara could, and not always in the most positive way. "Aren't you happy to be going home?"

"It's not home anymore," Tara reminded him irritably. "It hasn't been 'home' since I was five years old."

The room was deathly silent. 

"Well, then?" Anakin gave her a confrontational look. "No painful memories, no good memories … Jaks, what – "

"I just … don't see why it has to be Tatooine," she murmured, seeing that Anakin was gearing up for a fight. "Ryloth is just as close."

"Close for being butchered! Use your head, Ton-Ara!" Anakin said with such an obviously intentional meanness that both Lilandra and Jaina winced out of sympathy for Tara.

Tara's eyes became misty for a moment, and her fists clenched upon her arms, but she did not speak.

Instead, she shook her head, stood, and picked her way across the floor back to the bathroom.

Anakin shook his head and made a loud noise of dismissive derision, and Tara went suddenly purple in the face, jamming her fists onto her hips.

"I LOVE TATOOINE. TATOOINE'S FANTASTIC. Are you bloody well HAPPY now, you stupid JERK?" she roared, and slammed the bathroom door, while Anakin just glared, and the others looked on in amazement. 

"Atta girl," Dave said, giving the bathroom door a fond pat. "Better out than in, that's what I always say."

  


Silence reigned in the cockpit, far from the slamming of doors and exchange of misdirected words, as Mara sat at the helm of the *_Jadesaber*_, watching Luke dozing in the copilot's chair next to her. 

The mottled sky of a hyperspace channel streamed by outside the viewport, casting an eerie blue glow on the slumbering Jedi's face, the glittering apparitions outside flickering on his pale cheeks and eyelids. 

Mara yawned, and turned her attention back to the controls of the ship. 

She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept soundly; perhaps fatigue, like pain, once it had passed, became nothing but an invention of the unconscious. Certainly the mild dozing she achieved between the six-hour shifts she and Luke took in turns was hardly enough to keep her attentive, but she was beyond exhaustion now. Even if she tried to sleep, it would be impossible. 

How long had she been feeling this way? Not just the hours spent staring out the viewport, a dull nausea resonating in her stomach. It felt like much longer that she had spent her nights worrying. About what, she wasn't sure.

Luke knew. She could see it in every one of their interactions of late, in the sharpness of his voice in casual conversation, in their intermittent screaming matches – where she would scream and he would try hard not to – and in the plain, undeniable _hurt_ she sometimes caught in his eyes when he was looking at her. 

Even in bed, when she would curl herself into the crook of his arm and reach for his hands to fold them safely across her stomach, he was always accommodating, always gentle with her, but distant. 

And Lilandra – Mara felt a flash of residual anger. When had Lilandra become party to their unspoken troubles? When had he suddenly found himself able to confide in an outsider instead of his own wife?

Mara frowned, shaking her head. Lilandra was not an outside observer. She was impartial, or tried her hardest to be, anyway. She knew that Luke had told Lilandra because he couldn't keep it inside him forever. Because he was growing tired of waiting for her to realize what had happened between them, what had caused this breach.

It was something Lilandra could easily see from her objective stance, being away from the Academy most of the time to the point that any differences, no matter how subtle, became glaringly obvious to her. It was something Luke could see, because he lived it everyday, this thing that put that hurt in his eyes, but was determined to keep from her until she could recognize it on her own terms.

That determination was one of the most singularly infuriating – and appealing – things about him; it was the reason Mara often held back her frustration to the breaking point, where her own emotional barriers would shatter without warning, pent-up tension bursting forth without any appreciable bias to the cause of the release. The damage she could inflict was widespread and serious.

She knew Lilandra harbored no intentions of interfering in her marriage … but she'd been at the point of no return again, ready to plunge forward down the cliff of despair in the reckless manner she exercised in all her endeavors – wholly and with abandon. Lilandra had just been the cause of that effect.

Mara sucked her cheeks into a tired half-smirk, marveling at her own affecting diversity. The hyperspace drop countdown meter was showing one hour.

Did Luke ever tire of her diversions? Did he *_ever*_ harbor ulterior motives when he was with Lil?

One hour, and then Mara could sleep. All she had to do was land the ship on Tatooine, and let Luke do the rest of the work. Fifty-four minutes left.

Lil wasn't malicious enough to ever seduce Luke, and as much as Mara loved to tease her about those tabloid epics linking her with her attractive and eligible colleagues, she didn't really believe that Lilandra was the type to go to bed with somebody new every week and let herself get caught at it. 

She wasn't at all like the woman Mara had been at twenty-five. But that was why Mara didn't want to hate Lilandra. She was hoping maybe she could learn by observing the awed, but strangely methodical way in which she dealt with things, the way the most innocent of occurrences seemed to hold some kind of insubstantial wonder for her.

A memory flashed across her drooping eyelids, like a series of photographs: Lilandra, tall and still summer-perfect even in the dead of Yavin winter, disappearing around a random corner, coaxing two wobbly-legged and laughing toddlers towards her; Lilandra, kneeling beside a bathtub with soap suds in her hair, pouring milky water gently over two identical curly heads, deftly wiping the soap from attentive eyes with a waterlogged hand; Lilandra, fast asleep on the common room couch with Mara and Luke's twin children cuddled together on her lap, their tiny limbs tangled around her torso and silky, damp heads heavy on her shoulders. _Our Lilla,_ a child's self-important voice declaring.

Mara opened her eyes, watching the colors of the cockpit lights blur and bleed and shimmer for a moment until she blinked them back into their proper places. _Come on, be honest, Mara,_ she heard Luke chiding her. There were other reasons for her to be envious of Lilandra Ilkhaine. 

There was an instinct there, in the young senator, that Mara felt she had never possessed. Or maybe, she thought, she had silenced it. Wasn't it fairer, anyway, to let them be with women who loved them? Lilandra, Cilghal, Leia, Winter … she'd been disowning her children since the day they were born. 

Feeling the painful twist of commingled anger and guilt in her stomach, she squeezed her eyes shut, and thought of a high, solid wall, painted black to hide the images that wanted to flash accusingly across it and erected defiantly between her memory and her conscience. With nothing to remember or feel, she soon slipped into a fitful sleep, at the mercy of the senses she had not had the foresight to abandon, forgetting that love, however unwilling, is all-encompassing. 

She swore that, as she drifted away from the cockpit and the stark meanness of hyperspace's vast gray landscape, she could feel the questing brush of five perfect, tiny fingers across her cheek, and, shivering, she swept them hurriedly away.

  


***

The swift, urgent beeping of the hyperspace meter woke her what seemed like mere seconds later. She bolted upright, and scrambled for the controls, keying in with stumbling, desperate hands the planetary coordinates and yanking back on the hyperspace lever. A millisecond later, and she would have missed her destination altogether, or simply ran into the planet. The starlines flared, and the ship fell into the startlingly different scene of realspace.

The parched, yellow-brown sphere that was Tatooine hung in view, not glowing welcomingly, but hovering more menacing and angry looking than ever.

Mara shuddered at the sight of the sandstorms churning across the planetary surface, so powerful that they were visible from space. Little puffs of clouds formed at the tops of the strongest ones, piling high into the atmosphere. Inside, Mara felt scraped as raw as the burning ground below.

"Luke," she whispered, shaking his elbow. "Wake up, we're here." 

***

Together, they steered the ship down through the tempests tearing up the atmosphere, Luke's confident hand guiding Mara's wary one upon the controls, and brought it to rest in a dusty field just outside of the town of Anchorhead. A difficult navigational task, since Tatooine was, all things considered, just a large, spherical dusty field. 

Luke had a feeling that Anchorhead would be a better place to go for aid than Mos Eisley. As far as he knew, even though the Empire was officially snuffed out, Mos Eisley was still crawling with the real dregs of society – buskers, hustlers, pickpockets, and ex-Imperial stormtroopers and bounty hunters looking for a new beginning.

It was early morning in Anchorhead, and the town's streets were still quiet. By far the most populous city on the planet, it still consisted of only two-level buildings, shops on the lower level, and living quarters on the upper level. All the buildings were made from the tough, white durasteel of the kind manufactured on Sullust, but the outsides were caked with a thick layer of baked-on sand, which collected in thick, discolored sheets in the shadows of the dirty window frames and the low, protruding oblong doorways. The weather was amiable, with a light wind scattering the migrating sand dunes across the sloping roofs of underground dwellings and the twin suns already burning hot in a sky marked with only a brown, ominous haze: a sandstorm, raging on the horizon.

Lilandra descended the *_Jadesaber*_'s ramp, and the dry desert heat almost knocked her flat. Immediately, she became thirsty, and reached for the small water canteen hanging from her belt. Luke had made sure to equip all of his passengers with one.

"How did you stand this heat for eighteen years, Uncle Luke?" Lilandra heard Jaina ask from behind her.

Luke's response was, "I couldn't."

Tara and Anakin were the last ones out of the ship, having tentatively reconciled their unspoken disagreement, but Lilandra couldn't help but notice Tara's shudder despite the burning heat of Tatooine's suns. The girl's hair had fallen into her eyes, hiding them, but she stared hard at the sand anyway.

Lilandra had a vague memory of seeing her like this before, but in the cool, white luxury of Leia's Coruscant apartment, some months ago. Lilandra had been visiting, the two politicians lounging in the cushy depths of chairs, guzzling tea and talking when the door buzzer had sounded.

The sight of Ton-Ara standing in the hallway, dripping with hard winter rain and shaking with the force of the anger she had just unleashed on Anakin, two blocks away at the college where they were studying, had filled Lilandra with an almost maternal worry.

It wasn't the first she'd heard of Tara's running – how she simply left Anakin when she felt angry or in need of space – but it was the first time she'd witnessed it firsthand. There was something immensely pitiful about seeing the calm and collected doctor in such an anguished state, and Lilandra had asked, innocently, "But where will you go?"

She couldn't remember what Tara had sobbed disparagingly in response, but, glancing sidelong at the doctor now, Lilandra had a feeling that what she'd heard had been the claim to the rock on which they now stood. She chewed her lip thoughtfully, thinking that Tara's display of temper on the ship might actually have some credence if what Lilandra assumed was true: that when Tara ran, she ran here.

Luke was gazing perplexedly around at the clusters of low homes and buildings that was Anchorhead. He appeared to be looking for something. Within minutes, he'd found it, and was steering the group through the deserted streets towards a modern-looking building, taller than the rest, and lined with grimy windows.

"Destination?" Anakin prompted, striding ahead and dragging Tara by the hand behind him.

"Tosche Station," Luke answered, and pointed to the dirty glass building. To himself, he added, "I wonder if Camie and Fixer are still here … "

Mara patted his shoulder in response. "If they were smart, they probably got off this rock the first chance they had."

Luke shook his head. "Not Camie. She was too loyal to her father … and Fixer was too loyal to Camie. They wouldn't leave. Not unless … "

He didn't say under what extenuating circumstances faithful Camie might be persuaded to leave, but Mara suspected strongly that it had something to do with the Empire.

They walked in silence, trudging through the dune-lined streets to Tosche Station.

When they reached the dusty glass door, Luke hesitated, and then pushed it open.

The icy blast of conditioned air from inside the building almost killed them as it washed over their heads, breaking upon the bared flesh of their arms and raising bumps upon the wilting skin, but it was a welcome relief. They all shuffled inside, and stared around at the place a young Luke Skywalker had once called a second home.

The first floor consisted of an electronic pool table, a few tables, and a small bar set up along the back wall. Metal stairs, blocked off with a chain-link rope, curved up the shadowy back wall to a visible loft - clean, quiet, and homey.

Lilandra liked the relaxed air of the place. It spoke of the shared confidences of young men harboring secret dreams of wartime grandeur, and the commandeering presence of testosterone levels elevated here in times long ago. The faint smell of sweet disinfectant, combined with just a hint of sweat and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke made her feel lusty, brash … uncharacteristically masculine. It was the feeling of an alcoholic buzz, a sort of libidinous stupor that was strangely soothing and that Lilandra found herself liking. Her eyes were drawn to the bottles of thick, multicolored liquids hanging from the racks above the bar, the glint of muted sunlight a glowing heart in the bottom of the long, tubular containers. 

Suddenly, a gruff-sounding voice came from an open metal door behind the bar, breaking her thirsting reflections.

"We're not open yet – slither off."

Luke was about to protest, but then the identity of the voice's owner dawned on him, and his face split into a boyish grin. 

"Fixer? Is that you?"

There was a stunned pause.

"Luke? Luke Skywalker?" The aged face of one of Luke's closest friends appeared around the edge of the doorframe, and the look on both the faces of the men was enough to bring a smile to Lilandra's lips. "Well, I'll be kesseled …"

Fixer's entire body appeared, and he hopped over the bar to wrap Luke in a bone-crushing hug. He was a big, stocky man, darkly tanned with thick arms, thick legs, a thick torso, and a thick mop of dark brown hair lying flat upon his scalp. The only thing thin about him was the dark moustache above his upper lip. 

"I thought for sure you'd been killed," Fixer exclaimed when he finally pulled away.

"You always did have boundless faith in me, " Luke said dryly. "Go on. Surely you must have heard about me in the holos." He had a bragging note in his voice.

"Now, why would the newspeople bother with a lowly moisture farmer?" Fixer was teasing him, and both Lilandra and Mara chuckled quietly. Jaina, Dave, Tara, and Anakin just looked on in stunned, bemused silence. 

Jaina leaned on Dave. Dave leaned on Jaina. Anakin leaned towards Tara, perhaps unconsciously, but she stepped aside, causing the boy to stumble. He glared at her, hurt, and she shrugged, glaring right back, a secure calm in her blue eyes. 

"Ah, you forget that this moisture farmer has saved the galaxy – more than once!" Luke beamed with pride.

"Of course you did," Fixer said congenially. "We're all entitled to those good old delusions of grandeur once in a while."

He gestured to the gathering of Luke's dumbfounded companions. "What's this motley crew all about?" Luke beamed proudly as he slipped an arm around Mara's waist and pulled her toward him.

"Fixer, I'd like you to meet my wife, Mara Jade; my niece, Jaina, her husband Dave; my nephew Anakin, his girlfriend Tara; and one of my close friends, Lilandra."

Lilandra's cheeks reddened just a shade at being called one of Luke's 'close friends'. She'd known she was, of course, but there was a certain sweet triumph to be found in hearing him admit it. 

Fixer shook all their hands in turn, his eyes lingering on Mara longer than was probably prudent. 

"You've done alright for yourself, Skywalker," he murmured. 

"Don't sound so surprised," Luke grinned, raising his eyebrows. "So, where's Camie?"

It seemed only logical to ask – Tosche simply wasn't Tosche without the bright, cheerful presence of Fixer's long-time, much-coveted (at one time, by Luke, mostly) girlfriend. 

Fixer jabbed a finger up at the ceiling, indicating the loft above.

"Preening. You know Camie – early to rise, slow to descend … we've been married for twelve years now, and she still won't let the customers see her without her 'face' on."

"Figures," Luke snorted, and patted Mara's arm. "Not this one. Struts around in her nightclothes till afternoon, most days. No shame."

Mara beamed proudly, knocking his hand aside. 

"So what's the deal? You working for Camie's dad now?" Luke asked.

Fixer shook his head sadly. "Things have changed a bit around here since you've been gone. Camie's old man ran into some hard financial times after your uncle … well." He paused to clear his throat. "Hydroponic systems aren't exactly a hot commodity without moisture farmers to buy them."

"I understand," Luke said. "So you work at Tosche now?"

"Work?" Fixer laughed bitterly. "Hell, I _own_ the place! We don't exactly do a roaring trade nowadays, though. Everyone within ten miles of this town is either old or dead. We could've pulled out and gone to Mos Eisley years ago, only Camie hates that hole. For good reason, too – place is crawling with Imps." Luke's eyes widened. "Imperials? Why?"

His friend laughed again. "How should I know? Coruscant's in charge of that business. That fool Pellaeon doesn't know which end of a bantha's its head, though, let alone anything about politics."

Jaina suddenly stepped forward. "Tatooine is an Imperial world now," she explained. "It's had that designation for at least six years now. Might elucidate your Imperial invasion."

Fixer looked at her. "I'm not talking your ordinary folk here – think I can bloody well tell a lad's political affiliation just by looking at him? I wouldn't care if it was just a lot of you rampant young confederates running around organizing protests and signing petitions and campaigning and whatnot, but it's all Palpatine's type down that way – shady dealings, I tell you, shady dealings."

Luke frowned at Jaina.

"Does your mother have any idea this is going on?"

"The Imperial territories are Pellaeon's job," Jaina said, raising her hands. "My mother's only in charge of designating worlds for him to govern."

She looked at Lilandra for affirmation. The senator nodded at Fixer, whose eyes widened slightly as a jovial grin appeared on his ruddy face.

"Isn't the designation of worlds the Chief of State's job?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jaina shrugged casually. "That's what I said – my mother's job."

"Your mother's the Chief of State?" Fixer chuckled quietly, not quite believing her.

"Of course," Jaina replied, and curtsied prettily, pulling out the empty pockets of her flightsuit. "Jaina Solo at your service." 

"Great gundarks," Fixer breathed. "I thought you looked familiar."

He turned his suspicious brown-eyed gaze on the others.

"Come to think of it, you all do. Are you all related to the Solos?"

"Youngest son," Anakin replied. "Guilty as charged."

"Student," Tara said in turn. "Long-time friend of the family."

"No relation," Dave laughed. "Just the unworthy husband of this fine young lady." He slipped an arm around Jaina's waist.

"That leaves you," Fixer said to Lilandra. "You look *_very*_ familiar. I've seen you on the holos a fair few times, I have. Aren't you that ambassador – "

"I'm a Republican senator," Lilandra assured him hastily, interrupting what she knew he was about to say. "Of no relation to the Solos or the Skywalkers. Just a friend, like Luke said."

Fixer rolled his eyes, presumably at his own lack of up-to-date knowledge of the political world. 

"Think I'd better fix you all a drink," he muttered. "Got some catching up to do …"

  


An hour later, the crew was still perched on bar stools, Luke and Mara engaged in a slightly boisterous discussion with Fixer and Camie, who had emerged some fifteen minutes before to join the fun, while Lilandra, Dave, and Tara guzzled ale and Jaina and Anakin looked jealously on around tall glasses of fizzy. 

It seemed that Luke had decided to update Fixer and Camie on the complete chronology of his life since he'd left Tatooine, and unfortunately, Fixer had been drawn into the wonderfully complex way that Luke's life seemed to work, from the people he met to the unbelievable situations they'd been placed in. 

Lilandra would've found it interesting to hear if it had not been the umpteenth time she'd heard it all, of course, so Fixer was not to be blamed. But really … there was a need for some serious abridgement at that point. Luke and Mara had both been drinking continually since they'd all sat down, and it was all Lilandra could do to pretend not to notice how slurred their speech was becoming, how increasingly incoherent their words.

Not that she could've done much better should they actually invite her to join the conversation. The room was beginning to look a little darker than it had when they'd come in, and there was a dull ringing starting up in her ears. Three empty pint glasses stood on the shiny surface of the bar in front of her, and a fourth, three-quarters of the way gone, was clutched in her slightly trembling fist. 

Beside her, Dave cleared his throat.

"Ar … what's this we're drinking, anyway?" he asked Lil thickly.

"Dunno," she replied drowsily, setting down her glass with a clatter that was louder than necessary. "Something local. Figure I should stop now, or it'll be gross when we jump back into hyperspace."

"May I?" Dave gestured to her glass.

"Yeah, yeah, be my guest."

He tipped the last of the glass' contents down his throat, and belched enthusiastically, patting his chest.

"Goes down sorta nice, dunnit?"

"Yer," said Lilandra, hanging onto the bar. "Bit rich for my liking, though."

She had ceased to feel lusty and bold somewhere between her second drink and her third, and begun to notice the churning in her stomach. If she concentrated hard enough, she could hear the blood rushing in her ears as it hurried on its way to her drowsy brain. Whatever the amber liquid that had previously filled the glasses in front of her had been, it had been awfully powerful, shooting straight through her like liquid heat and rendering her bored yet strangely engaged. She wondered briefly if perhaps this was how alcoholics felt – if, once they reached a certain point of disengagement from society they took to drinking just because it was something to do.

"I'm *_bored*_," Tara growled, shooting a killer glance down the bar at Luke and Mara. "I can't wait to get off this rock."

"That's beginning to sound like a common theme today," Jaina commented, sucking back some of the liquid in her husband's glass.

"Feel bad for Luke," Anakin said, patting his girlfriend's head in an attempt at further reconciliation.

"Doesn't sound much like he regrets it now," Tara replied sarcastically. "Yak, yak, yak …"

"Hold on," Lilandra said, holding up a hand for silence and leaning her ear down the bar towards where Luke was still talking animatedly, drawing pictures in the air with his hands. "It sounds like he's talking about the galaxy map now."

"What?" Tara asked, her tone dripping sarcasm. "Already? You mean there wasn't a big half-hour lead-in?"

The five youths all turned to stare at Luke. As they watched, he swayed dangerously on his stool, Mara restraining him with her arm, but barely, as she was just as silly.

"Spectacular," assessed Anakin, grinning broadly. "This is one for the history books. I swear, they've both downed about six glasses of that stuff you three have been drinking – each!"

"S'gonna hurt tomorrow," Dave shrugged, a roguish expression on his face also. "I thought Jedi weren't allowed to indulge in such worldly pleasures."

"The rules only apply when we're at home …" Anakin said devilishly. 

"Alright, you two, shut up and listen," Lilandra commanded. "We have to strike while they're primed, or we'll be here all night."

" … Some wild colony called Terapinn," Luke was saying, his voice garbled. 

"You know, old buddy, that's funny," Fixer said, and promptly hiccoughed, "cause there's been some whispers around here in recent years. You hear a lot down in Mos Eisley, and that name's been kicking around for a while now. Fifteen years at least, since the ruddy Imperials took everything over."

Lilandra shifted her stool closer to Fixer's end of the bar with a pointed look at her friends. This could be the information she'd been unable to find in the history books – information they might need.

"Not a happy mission, of course," Fixer continued. "I heard Palpatine carried out the operation himself, but I'll be damned if I swallow that line. Bastard never did like to do his own dirty work."

Lilandra cut into the discussion, as Luke appeared beyond comprehension.

"You don't know the reason they were imprisoned, do you? Or who they are?"

"Weren't from around here, I can tell you that much," Fixer replied, taken aback. "Why the concern?"

"We're on our way there. Right now."

There was a silence.

"Bit of a risky move, isn't that?" Fixer asked, bringing his bushy eyebrows together. "Wouldn't like to mess around in Imperial business myself, not with the things I've been hearing lately down in Mos Eisley."

"Er … what sort of things?" Lilandra asked nervously.

"Shady dealings, like I said before. Those people, they're hopeless out that way. Lost everything when Palpatine was killed. The last time there was any sort of revival out there was when that old assistant of his – Karina something – popped out of the woodwork and started rallying his remaining troops. Speaking of which, you are the spitting image of the little girl who put a stop to all that. Are you sure – "

"Really, there's no relation," Lilandra insisted uncertainly.

"Anyway, that was all about five years ago, and things have been pretty quiet since. But now and again, like I said, somebody will bring up that old nadir of his, and they call it Terapinn. Palpatine at his worst – it's sort of a last testament to his glory, with them. Something for them to hang on to while they wait to be tried."

Lilandra blinked. The way Fixer put it, it was almost easy to feel sorry for them, Palpatine's old supporters.

"If you ask me," Fixer continued, now speaking only for Lilandra's benefit, for Luke had begun nodding off on his stool, "I would leave it alone, knowing what it meant to Palpatine and now what it means to the people he left in this state. You ruin that, take it away from them, and I daresay you'll have a lot of very unhappy people after you, sweetheart."

Lilandra let that sink in for moment. She couldn't tell for sure, but was Fixer … _threatening _her?

"Not meaning to scare you or anything, darlin', but maybe you should reconsider if you're all doing the right thing here."

Unbidden, Kerryna's parting words to Lilandra came back to her.

_What you're doing is a good thing, but it's not necessarily the right thing …_

What did they all _mean_ by that?

Lilandra was about to respond, but suddenly, there was a loud crash, and the sharp tinkling of breaking glass. Horrified, she looked behind her to see that Luke had passed out and fallen off his stool, taking his empty mug with him. Already, Jaina and Dave were upon him, Jaina taking up his arms while Dave supported his legs and Tara ran to help Mara off her own stool.

"Good work, Lil," Anakin grinned, and flashed her a thumbs-up as the foursome hurried out the doors, dragging their elders with them.

"Thank you for all your help, Fixer," Lilandra said, with an apologetic glance at Camie, who had vaulted herself over the bar, a broom and dustpan in hand. 

"No problem. Drinks are on the house. Just promise me you won't let Skywalker go and get himself into trouble again," Fixer said sternly. "That goes for yourself as well. Pretty girl like you has got no place meddling in the affairs of the past. Problem with you politicians, you Jedi is, you never know when to just live and let die, do you."

Lilandra offered him a sad smile. "If we did, we'd have all killed each other long ago."

Fixer grinned. "You have a safe journey, now, Senator."

"We will, thanks," Lilandra said, and shook his hand before sliding off her stool and heading for the door.

Hand poised on the latch, she paused, and turned to look at Fixer.

"Hey – you'll watch for me on the holos, right?"

"Long as they're not showin' me a picture of the deceased, I will!" he called back, and waved.

Lilandra smiled, bid farewell to Tosche station and the town of Anchorhead, whose streets were now beginning to fill with people, and strode across the spreading stretch of desert to where the _Jadesaber _sat.


	10. The Secret Revealed

~10~

The Secret Revealed

  


As Luke and Mara had been rendered helpless by their uncharacteristic binge on Fixer's local ale, Lilandra and Jaina had now taken their places in the spacious cockpit; Lilandra piloting while Jaina navigated their way. 

Lilandra's hands were clumsy upon the controls from exhaustion and the fog now hostilely invading her brain, and her stomach and throat burned with nausea as hyperspace sped past in an uncomfortable blur. Beside her, Jaina was white and tight-lipped, her eyes red and unblinking behind the scratched visor of her helmet. 

The air seemed tinged with a solemn sobriety that hadn't been there before Tatooine. Jaina's face was sad as she stared through the nothingness, her fingernails dug deeply into the sides of her chair. 

"Jaina?" Lilandra asked quietly. "What do you see when you look into hyperspace?"

Jaina looked at her unenthusiastically, lifting the visor. "It has this way of taking the happiness out of you, Lil. Particularly when you're tired."

She was silent, pausing to glance at the digital charts dancing in front of her on a map screen that was completely illegible to Lilandra. Then, entering something into the computerized log on her lap, she spoke again.

"I keep wondering what it must be like, to be persecuted."

Lilandra sighed. "You know what it's like, Jainy. You've been persecuted since before the notion of your being was even conceived."

"I meant to the degree that the Terapinn prisoners have been persecuted. I can't imagine it. If they were taken from their families, or if they had been rich beyond their wildest dreams ... Doesn't it worry you, Lil? Aren't you scared of who they might have become?"

"I can't imagine it," Lilandra admitted. "But something just keeps reminding me that this is justice."

"But what if we're getting in over our heads? What if Fixer was right? I shudder to think what kind of people Palpatine would've wanted to imprison beyond the reasons of life itself."

"Well … we'll have to fight, won't we? We're no strangers to fighting. You know politics."

"Too well," Jaina agreed grimly. "But just because we've got experience doesn't mean we should take unnecessary risks. A Jedi is not supposed to throw herself into situations that would compromise her values. Any Master will tell you that Jedi weren't given their powers to kill."

"But to fight for a cause?" Lilandra suggested, shrugging. "It's how the ancients would have wanted it. The Jedi have always been the keepers of peace. Peace means tolerance, patience, and sympathy. You've got all of that. But it's no good if you don't put it to use."

Jaina remained silent, thinking, warming her thin, delicate hands on the console. 

"There's something out there that we can learn from, to any end," Lilandra said softly. "And goodness knows we're hungry for the experience."

"No turning back now, anyway," Jaina replied, just as pensively. "We're coming out of hyperspace in an hour."

In the bunkroom, Tara sat on the couch with her elbows resting on her knees, and her head in her hands. She was watching Luke and Mara sleep. Beside her, Anakin had conked out long ago, and was snoring softly, and Dave was in another bunk, reading.

Across from her, Luke and Mara occupied separate bunks, still lying stationary in the positions in which they had been heaved, with great difficulty, upon the mattresses. Luke was lying on his back, his mouth hanging open, his arm flung across his face, while Mara's head was buried into her pillow, deep, muffled snores emanating from her. 

"They'll wake up soon," whispered Tara, almost afraid to shatter the oddly tense quiet in the room, but needing to speak somehow, if only to make sure that her voice was still in proper working order. Dave looked up.

"What makes you so sure?"

"I can tell. Soon." There was relief in her tone. 

Dave sighed, and put down his datapad. Motioning her over to the bunk, he patted the mattress beside him. Grateful for the invitation, she went, and settled cross-legged beside him, looking down at her knees. 

"Jaks," Dave said matter-of-factly, watching her fumble with the cuffs of her pants. "What's with all this morose business? Have you been feeling all right these past few days? I mean, you've been acting like you're the angel of death or something."

"When did you learn to read me?" Tara asked.

He grinned. "When Jaina told me how to tell when something is on your mind."

"Really," she replied, a bit put-off, but interested. "And how's that?"

"You chew your lip. Like this. And you say weird, off-topic things that are really just an expression of your troubled inner thoughts."

Tara rolled her eyes. "Good to know I'm so predictable."

"Am I right though?" Dave asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Yes," she admitted. "I'm sorry for my behavior this past week. I just … need to work some things out. With myself. Just myself. Not Anakin, cause I can read your mind just as easily. You're freaked out by our habits towards each other."

Dave raised his eyebrows. "Well … let's face it. You two don't act like a normal couple."

"We're not a normal couple," Tara pointed out. "We're trapped in a nightmare of stereotypes that we seem to be constantly attempting to defy."

"Seems like you've given this considerable thought."

"Yes, well … I have some decisions to make."

Dave thought for a moment. "Seems to me we went through this a few months ago when you decided to move in with him, Jaks."

"Well, it isn't easy for me!" Tara exploded. "You and Jaina, your relationship has just been so bloody formulaic! Besides the objections from Leia and Han, everything just fell into place with you two. Like you're some sort of mirror image of Leia and Han themselves. But I feel like Anakin and I, we're more like Luke and Mara, fighting all the time, breaking up, getting back together … he's like a needy child sometimes, and I just don't have the ambition to work at it anymore!"

Dave regarded her sadly as she laid her cheek miserably against the bedpost. 

"Tara."

"_What_?"

"Have you ever thought of telling these things to Anakin? You can't deny him the access to your emotions which he is owed as your boyfriend of three years."

On a different train of thought from Dave, traveling a steeper path, Tara sighed and murmured, "Sometimes when I wake up in the morning and see that he's still beside me, and I know that when he wakes up he's going to want to lie there for a while with his arms around me, just enjoying some moment he perceives as romantic, whether it be commenting on the state of my hair, or the things I happened to say in my sleep, I dread it. I absolutely dread it, Dave. Waking up is so hard to do."

Dave shook his head. "Anakin has no complaints."

"Exactly!" Tara cried, exasperated. "He's in utter blissville! And you ask me why I won't talk to him? I *_can't*_, Dave, he doesn't listen to me! Like I said, he's a child. I'm trapped in the nightmare of his coming of age!"

Dave actually laughed at this. Tara scowled and kicked her feet over the end of the bed, rubbing them back and forth across the metal floor.

"It was easier when we were just kids. These things didn't matter so much when he was fourteen and I was sixteen, and all that mattered was competing to see who could impress each other more. But I've gotten past the stupid fixations of adolescence, while he seems to delight in them," Tara spat savagely, wringing her hands. "I know how Mara feels sometimes. Ani is just like Luke – his head in the clouds and his mind on the ethereal. He feels his way through life, doesn't think about the consequences of his actions and words."

"But that's Anakin for you," Dave reasoned. "He is a passionate fellow, and he's still young."

"I know," Tara moaned. "But sometimes … sometimes I wish he weren't. He's such a smart boy, but that's all he is. Just a boy."

"I still think you should try," Dave said. "Trying sure as hell beats being miserable and forgoing the sex for the sake of your own urge to sulk."

Tara regarded him dubiously for a moment, but then she laughed softly. "You men," she said. But that was all.

From the lower bunk, Luke abruptly made a noise somewhere between a gurgle and a groan. His eyes opened halfway, and he sat up, promptly hitting his head on the bottom of the bunk above his.

He seized his head, doubling over in obvious pain, and gagged suddenly.

Tara jumped up and threw herself upon the bunk, grabbing Luke's hands and pulling him up.

"Bathroom, bathroom, please and thank you!" she cried, pushing him towards the door. There was the brief sound of retching before Tara slammed the door and brushed her hair back from her forehead. 

"Pleasure begets pain," she grumbled. "Just _let_ him try and mess up those blankets. Mara will have his head when she regains consciousness."

"Nothing like the post-drunken chunks," Dave sighed, reverently patting his belly and stretching out his legs across Tara's lap. "Reminds me of the good old days. Odd, cause I can't remember a thing about them."

Tara chuckled, pushing his socked feet away and leaning back against the wall. "If Jaina heard you talking like that …"

"She knows," Dave said, dismissing it with a casual swipe of his hand. "Finds it charming, actually."

"She always did like tough redneck men," Tara said roguishly. "Not like me. Faithful and true to mid-pubescent science geeks."

"Don't sound so remorseful!" Dave laughed. "I'd have given it all up to have known Jainy when *_I* _was fourteen. She's exactly the kind of woman who could ease the troubles of puberty."

"That's probably how Anakin feels about me," Tara said. She sounded surprised. 

"Jeez, absolutely. Listen to me, Jaks: don't give him reason to feel otherwise. He would die for you, and you know it."

"Yeah, but it just feels like teenaged angst sometimes, Dave. Tell me it isn't so." She sounded somewhat desperate.

"You'd know if it was," Dave reassured her. "You're a brilliant lady, Tara, but don't ever let me hear you saying you don't need Anakin Solo, because I'd have to slay you for lying."

Tara felt she might've kissed him right then out of gratitude if Luke hadn't come staggering out of the bathroom, his face looking very gray. 

"Never again," he muttered. "Never doing that again."

"You always say that until the next time," Dave said jovially. "Welcome to your first hangover!"

Luke shot him a venomous glare. "How's Mara?"

"Still asleep," Tara replied.

"Not anymore," growled Mara came from the uppermost bunk. "Ugh, what a nightmare. I haven't been drunk like that since the old days in the Court. You had to hand that to Palpy – he had a knack for choosing booze." 

Luke headed for the cockpit door. "And penal colonies. How close are we to Terapinn?"

His question was answered by the swift, loud beeping of the hyperspace meter from behind the door.

The ship lurched suddenly as it fell out of hyperspace, and Mara made a run for the bathroom. Tara and Dave grabbed each others' hands and picked their way gingerly across the sloping floor behind Luke, heading for the jump seats, but both felt their feet leave the ground as the ship gave a violent jerk downwards, throwing them all headlong into the wall of the corridor.

The cockpit door slid open, jerked off its track by another sharp lurch, and Tara heard Jaina's shuddering gasp before a tidal wave of blackness seemed to break over her head. 

A brutal sensation overtook her – the feeling of freefalling, down into despair as deep as an ocean. Even screaming was agony as pain ripped through her head. Panic seized her; she was mute as her throat closed with horror. 

It was as it had been with the arrival of the map: a huge outpouring of usually benign emotion magnified by several thousand times flowing up, down, sideways, and diagonally through her mind, blasting her flat, rendering her helpless. She took a great gulp of air, fighting against the impressive onslaught with rapidly diminishing strength. A desperate ache ebbed and flowed through her; the burden of emotional distress had become too great for its mental confines to withstand, and had broken the threshold between the mental and the wholly physical. 

She was vaguely aware of someone's foot connecting with her elbow, which was bent back against the wall – how had she gotten to the floor? – And that person stumbled backwards. There was a sickening crunch, and Tara felt breath leave her at once. 

Her arm had gone numb. Pushing out a feeble cry, Tara heaved herself up, staring through a myriad of glowing spots to the cockpit beyond. Luke had fallen beside her; there was blood on the floor, and she could just make out the shapes of Lilandra and Jaina, embracing tightly in the cockpit, faces wrought in matching grimaces of pain. Light was flowing through the corridor, from the pale, gray-blue half-sphere hanging innocuously before the viewport: the penal colony of Terapinn.

Inert from the shock, Tara could only lie there, fighting to comprehend the magnitude of what she was experiencing, and failing. Even words failed her. She was frozen, pressed back against the cold metal floor with the force of a hundred thousand memories, the collective emotions of a lost generation washing over her, sending shivers raking through her body. It was as though she could feel the misery of anyone anywhere who was crying at that very moment, feel the joy of anyone who was laughing … feel the pain of all who were sick, or dying …

"What is this?" she gasped, gazing at the voluminous clouds bearing up on the atmosphere of the planet in front of her, the jagged mountain peaks soaring towards her as the _*Jadesaber* _floated ever closer. 

"It's _*Jedi*_," someone whimpered fearfully from the cockpit. "_*Hundreds _of them."

  



	11. Further Chaos

~11~

Further Chaos

Chief of State Leia Organa Solo was walking in the jungle when her comrades arrived on Terapinn.

It had been a long couple of days, watching their progress across the galaxy, wondering what experiences they were compiling into stories to add to their litany of odd and entertaining adventures upon their return. It gave her peace, following the glowing dot that was the *_Jadesaber* _blazing its way across hundreds of trillions of miles of space, seeing that it was always there, never veering off course, expertly piloted by its fragile human cargo. Carrying her brother away once more into dangers yet unknown. 

She needed this sometimes, this refuge among the trees, when worrying became too tedious. She had been feeling rather miffed lately, having come to Yavin to escape the worry of her job for a few months, and finding in return that she had no choice but to once again worry for her family. She knew in her heart that they were still fine, that they weren't in danger yet, that the mission team was assembled of seven of the most competent people she could have named, but something – perhaps the numerous battles that had left her jaded and wary – reminded her never to assume that no news was good news. They had not had a transmission from the team since they had left Tatooine. And though the ship had still appeared on the radar screen, plowing determinedly ahead towards its isolated destination, the thought had occurred to her that ships will fly so long as they have fuel in their engines … pilot or none. 

She cast her eyes to the cloudless blue sky above, the heat of the afternoon causing the forest canopy to shimmer behind a thin, opalescent sheen of haze. 

_ A sign,_ she thought to no one in particular. _I beg of you, some news of my brother, my children. Are they well? _

Something seemed to twitch vaguely in the back of her mind; she turned, glancing quickly behind her. The path was deserted. 

_Are they happy? _She wondered. 

It appeared to be the wrong sort of question to ask, for in the next second, her Force sense seemed to go crazy. 

A thousand desperate warning waves flashed through her mind, and her muscles sprang habitually into action. Attempting to duck and whirl around simultaneously, she launched forward from her knees, landing face first in the dirt, the force with which she hit the earth knocking her momentarily breathless. She put her fingers quickly between her teeth and bit down hard as her jaw connected with solid rock, and she lay there, stunned, as blood trickled between her knuckles.

Her breath was now coming in short, quick gasps. She felt sick, horribly sick, and panic was rising quickly in her throat as her senses continued to waver. She felt vulnerable, as though she was lying alone in the midst of a crowd of thousands, all swarming about her, lost, confused. She could hear their footsteps, feel their bewilderment.

Anger coursed suddenly through her, thick and stifling, and a strangled yell escaped her lips. Shadows were moving in her rapidly darkening vision, darting through the trees, but only shadows. Their owners were absent; Leia blinked sweat from her eyes, and her sight cleared. 

They were present still, hundreds upon hundreds of them, fleeing some unknown enemy. Some were running very close to where she lay – she wondered briefly if they were only visible to her, if they signified the onset of some unforeseen middle-aged madness, but a dry, disbelieving sob issued forth from her as she saw a multitude of birds taking frightened flight, color bursting up through the sheltering canopy, fleeing the fleeing. 

Leia huddled close to the ground, covering the back of her neck with her hands, even though it had dawned on her that she was invisible to the shadows quickly disappearing into the thick of the jungle. 

A ringing was starting up in her ears that rapidly rose to the pitch of frenzied screaming. The sound sent shivers raking violently up her spine. It was the sound of terror, the sound of battle. The voices were indistinguishable – they were not screaming words. At least, not yet.

Straining her ears though it pained her to do so, she listened desperately for some utterance of explanation, some reason for this occurrence, and almost as though it had been scripted, something began to run just as frantically in her mind. 

It was a singular voice, angry and frustrated, but she couldn't determine its origin from the figures racing past. It rose above the screaming, she had it pinned down … it resisted, but there was a moment of twisted enlightenment during which Leia dared to look up from the ground, and saw someone very real, very solid, darting through the trees at the side of the path, fighting the hedges and the brambles. A woman, clad in black, with a cowl pulled over her face, hiding her identity. 

Then, as Leia watched, she stumbled, and the cowl slipped backwards, revealing a flash of dark blonde hair, the glint of sunlight off square eyeglasses, and the voice burst into her head, powerful and present and afraid.

_They stole us. They locked us up. _

Leia leaned into the ground, leaned into the voice as it materialized. It had a quality of innocence to it, like a child trying desperately to explain an injury or argument through the urgency of their own panic.

_ Hundreds of us …_

_ Leia!_

Leia's head shot up again. A new voice had joined the confusion inside her aching head: Luke's. Panic surged through her. Was this cry the instantaneous connection of two Force-sensitive, twinned minds, or simply a remembrance, ingrained upon her memory from the numerous times her reckless brother had called on her for help? 

The vision of Cloud City came to her, that moment of desperate illumination when he had first reached her through the distraction of her panic to call her to the real need of the moment – his immediate rescue from where he hung, in grave danger of spiraling away into nothingness, burning up in the oblivion of terror.

_Hundreds of us …Jedi? _

The voice was back, sounding confused at the words it was forming. Again, Leia thought of a child, who has been told to repeat words they are unfamiliar with. The thought brought tears to her eyes as she thought wistfully of Anakin, her little echo.

"Enough!" she hissed aloud, biting her lip. "I've heard enough."

_ They took everybody, us too._

Us? The children? Tears burned at the corners of her eyes.

_ We're all gone …we're all here …_

"Please!" 

_ All here …_

The voice pressed insistently at her, as if she should know where 'here' was, who 'they' were, what in the galaxy had happened. She stared straight ahead through eyes blurry with tears.

The flickering shadows began to lengthen and vanish, one by one, winking out like the lights of a building into the night. 

Then, with a last reminder – _All here_ – they had disappeared. The voice, the pain, the shadows, the confusion, all of it had evaporated in the heat of the afternoon, and Leia was still lying stretched out on the ground, panting hard. 

She had only the strength to roll over onto her back, gazing blankly up at the canopy, which began to spin, a muddle of yellow and green and the deep, inviting blue of the sky, and Leia was sinking into it, the heat and the fragrance. Then she was gone, and knew no more, until the seconds lengthened into minutes, and the minutes into hours, and she was missed at the temple, and people were shaking her awake. 

There were hands at her elbows, hands at her knees, voices in her ears, but real voices. There were tangible presences at her side, concerned murmurings issuing forth from them as something liquid was forced down her throat, as she was pulled into a sitting position against her will. 

"Han," she croaked, pulling her husband's familiar growl from the jumble of sound. "Something's gone wrong … I could hear him, they're in trouble, someone's in trouble, some people are in trouble –"

Someone clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the flow of words. She opened her eyes, flailing her arms involuntarily, but there were more arms binding her, picking her up, carrying her away down the path. Heat seared behind her eyelids; she let her head fall back against a chest. Comprehension flooded back to her. She was being taken to sickbay. 

The arms binding her own to her sides to stop them flailing belonged to her husband – she perceived his familiar scent of cigarras and cologne. Her son, Jacen, was carrying her feet, while Cilghal, the Mon Cal nursing assistant ran alongside them. All were talking in hushed, concerned tones while the trees whispered and gossiped overhead. 

"Han, I'm so sorry," Leia sighed, "so sorry for all of this …"

"Shh," Han said. "You don't know what you're saying."

The footsteps of the strange envoy became more measured as they found solid ground: they were on the landing pad; they were racing her towards the hangar bay.

"I have to tell you …"

"We know," Jacen assured her, sounding oddly strained. "We know everything."

"What's happened?" Leia moaned. 

She was being carried into the cool darkness of the temple; time was melting away in vast blocks. She was being laid upon a gurney in the sickbay, Cilghal's rubbery hands were fumbling upon her forehead, her neck, feeling for the severity of her pulse, the reason for the sweat running in rivulets down her face.

"There's been an accident," Han said, his voice unusually strangled. "The *_Jadesaber*_'s vanished from the radar screen. We've lost them."

  



	12. The Seven and the Hundreds

~12~

The Seven and the Hundreds

  


Tara awoke suddenly what felt like hours later, her head nestled in the crook of her arm, her legs curled up against the wall of the hallway connecting the cockpit of the _*Jadesaber* _to the crew cabin. She was bathed in a square of faded blue light that danced on the cylindrical ceiling above her, and a sense of urgency pervaded the dreamy haze that clouded her thoughts. She sat up, promptly whacking her head on the doorframe. There was another body beside her. 

"Luke!" she hissed. "Master Skywalker!"

Her teacher's limp form was hanging half-in, half-out of the corridor, his feet dangling from the doorstep, his face pressed into the floor of the cockpit, near the base of a chair in which Jaina sat, ashen-faced and uncertain. 

Anakin was standing beside her, his hand on her shaking shoulders, while Dave attended to Lilandra, who was wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her sweatshirt and trying to push him away. Mara was nowhere to be seen, probably in the washroom ridding her burning stomach of the last traces of her illicit overindulgence. 

Anakin turned and saw that Tara was awake, and picked his way gingerly over Luke's lifeless form to where she sat, feeling dazed. Though she was clearly alive, clearly breathing, Anakin still felt the need to pass his fingers over her forearms, her neck, feeling for a pulse, and Tara was filled with a strange kind of relief. Satisfied, he ended his search by pressing his lips against hers. She didn't kiss him back. He sat back on his haunches, and offered her a hesitant sort of grin before clearing his throat.

"Skewed logic, but otherwise unharmed," he pronounced quietly, and got to his feet. "Master Skywalker?"

Luke responded with a groan. "Someone take down the license number of that landspeeder …"

Anakin's eyebrows shot up in amusement. "Reversion to use of corny outdated humor. A sure sign of impeccable mental health. Congratulations, Uncle Luke. You'll live."

"Anyone care to explain to me what just happened?" Luke asked waspishly, pushing himself onto his knees in the corridor and stretching. 

"Jedi," Jaina said through tight lips. "That's Terapinn's big, almighty secret. It's a penal colony for Jedi."

Silence descended upon the group once more, as Luke regarded Jaina's pained expression, the tears rolling down Lilandra's flushed cheeks, his eyes falling at last on Tara's sudden grimace.

"When you've all composed yourselves," he commanded wearily, "land this ship."

  


The minutes passed in silence as Lilandra, having pulled herself quickly together, piloted the ship towards the peaceful gray-blue sphere hanging in the viewport. Mara had emerged from the washroom, looking green, and the group was now clustered around the chairs in the cockpit, watching the planet's terrain morph as they drew nearer.

They could see now that Terapinn was a mountainous world. Peaks dusted with glistening caps of snow rose through great canyons of voluminous white clouds. The feeble light from its distant sun shone weakly upon its northern hemisphere, where Lilandra was now steering the ship. 

"Get down beneath those clouds," Luke ordered, pointing to a particularly large bank of vapor. "We'll scout around there for a place to land."

Obeying, Lilandra angled the _*Jadesaber*_'s nose sharply downward, and plowed through the bank, skidding the ship over massive updrafts. Ice and water pelted the viewscreen, and for a few moments, there was only whiteness, and then the ship broke through, circling a mountain peak and diving down its starkly shadowed windward face. 

Lower down, pale gray composite volcanoes rose through the mist hugging the purplish earth, their dormant craters dotting the landscape for miles in either direction. 

"Barren," Luke murmured. "Head east, towards those mountains."

The mountains in question were twin peaks, lower than the jagged ones they had come in around, but still shrouded in thick layers of cloud. Lilandra banked around the larger of the two peaks, and began flying the ship on a straightaway, through the steep valley formed between the mountain brothers. Through breaks in the cloud layer, there were flashes of lush, dark green, miles and miles below. 

"This is it!" Luke said. "A river valley – draining from those mountains. Follow downstream, and keep your eyes peeled, everyone."

Sticking close to the eastern peak, the _*Jadesaber*_ cruised ever lower, its underbelly skimming the lower clouds until it vanished into their midst to emerge beneath their shelter and hover above the distinctly more welcoming sight of Luke's river valley.

A long, shallow canyon had been gouged into the bedrock by the wide ribbon of water snaking its way between two heavily treed escarpments. Two flat, grassy plains stretched away towards the mountain peaks that evidently supplied the river with runoff from their patchy white peaks.

"The floodplains, due east, Lil. Check it out."

Lilandra eased the ship down, and they entered the mountain's shadow. Luke had been correct – below them, on the floodplain amidst squares of long grass bent flat from wind, was what looked like brown earth. It had been divided into the telltale, mismatched squares that denoted farmlands. 

"Come on, Ilkhaine. Set her down in one of these, and we'll have ourselves a little expedition, shall we?"

Luke sounded hopeful. 

"They don't look like they've had it so bad, do they?" Tara commented as they flew past a few squares that had already burst into bright green foliage. "They've got a food source, at least."

"Damn those resourceful Jedi. I'm beginning to wonder if we're actually doing them a favor by coming here," Anakin replied. Jaina put her hands over her mouth. 

Lilandra set the _*Jadesaber* _down in a dry field at the edge of the floodplain at Luke's instructions.

"We don't want to startle them," he said.

"Are you kidding?" Anakin pointed out. "They're Jedi – they probably already know we're here."

Jaina let out a small squeal from behind her cupped palms, and Dave patted her shoulder reassuringly. 

They landed with a small, barely perceptible bump, and then proceeded to sit in silence for moment, thinking most likely identical thoughts. 

"We've come this far," Dave suggested, voicing what nobody else wanted to. "We might as well go and have a look around. Maybe these people will have us for tea for our efforts."

Anakin snorted laughter, which seemed to settle it. Lilandra extended the ramp from the base of the ship, and the crew of seven descended onto the springy, dusty soil of the world of Terapinn.

Lilandra jogged to the border of the field some ten feet away and back again, enjoying the way the soil seemed to repel the impact of her boots, pushing her feet up again and guiding her steps. The air here was thin, cool and crisp. It felt good, sliding down her throat. Pure, clean oxygen began to circulate through her blood, giving her the rush of the atmosphere of an ancient world untainted by life. 

Thin fingers of mist reached across the floodplain on which they stood, disappearing over a small rise into the river valley below. Shaded hillocks greeted them at the base of the huge mountain that loomed miles above them, its peak hidden by dark-bottomed clouds, and the lip of the valley seemed to curl around behind them, making Lilandra feel as though she was standing on an island of earth, surrounded by unscripted, uncharted wilderness on either side. Excitement coursed through her; this was, all things considered, the perfect place to drop a planetful of unruly Jedi. 

Tara had begun idly strolling a path, completely unaware of the notion that she was standing on a path, so lost in the mystical air of the planet was she. She hugged her arms around herself and tilted her head back so that the tips of her blonde curls brushed her shoulders. She stuck out her tongue, as if hoping to catch a drop of pure spring water upon it, should the heavily laden clouds above decide to unload their burden upon the ground below. 

"Chee," Anakin breathed, emerging last from the ship, arm in arm with his sister. "Nice place, this."

"Fine appraisal," Dave replied sarcastically. "Probably the same thing Palpatine thought when he went scouting for real estate. What's that the agents always say? 'Location, location, location …'"

"It's a real fixer-upper, but it's got potential," Jaina mused, squinting her eyes into the watery light illuminating their surroundings. "There's a quaint aura about the place."

"Oh, yeah … lots of happy memories, I'll bet," Ani laughed. 

"Come on, shut up, you three. Honestly." Luke rolled his eyes. "Joking at this point feels like a sacrilege."

Anakin crossed himself, and fell to his knees in the dirt. "May the Maker strike me dead, for I have committed the sin of illuminating the utter irony of this situation."

"What, that we're practically in dead space and yet standing on someone's field?" Jaina asked coquettishly. 

"Ten thousand credits to the lady in the ugly orange flightsuit," Anakin bellowed. 

Jaina bowed deeply. "They like me! They really like me!"

"So what happens now, Uncle Luke?" Anakin asked impatiently. "Shall we get our hoes?"

Jaina was overcome with a strong fit of giggles as Anakin slipped an arm roguishly around Tara's shoulders, winking first with his right eye, then with his left. She gasped, slapping him hard upside the head. 

"That's not what I meant!" he laughed.

"I know what you meant!" Tara yelled back, but laughed also. 

"Peace, children," Luke interjected calmly, if a tad cynically. "We must wait for a course of further action to present itself."

They didn't have to wait long, for their jovial exchange was abruptly interrupted by the quiet arrival of one of the presences that had contributed its thoughts to the jumble that had overcome them up in space.

"I am wondering," a gravelly sort of voice said from behind them, "why you are here."

The group turned as one to observe the newcomer, and was only mildly surprised by what they found. 

A creature, with a short, stocky torso and the broad ears and horned feet of one very famous Jedi was squatting in the dirt, a human-sized rake in its hand. 

Luke squinted at it, disbelieving. The thing was almost identical to Yoda, his onetime teacher, save for its large, shiny red lips and long, dark lashes framing a pair of curious violet eyes. Luke might've taken it for granted that the thing was female, but one could never really be sure with unidentified species. They could always be illiquid. 

"Neat!" Tara knelt down in the dirt and extended a hand to the creature. It blinked passively at her, offering her a vacant sort of smile. Tara knew better than to be taken in by its vapid nature. "Doctor Ton-Ara Jaksbin at your service."

"Teghan," the creature replied, its expression becoming more animated. It drew its long, stained burgundy robe tighter about itself, and shifted its rake to its other hand. "Why have you come?"

"Sort of unassuming, this one," Anakin commented quietly. "If seven large and possibly armed bipeds showed up in *_my*_ field, I probably wouldn't question their reason for being there."

"Maybe it's not evident from that height," Dave shrugged, shifting the blaster holster slung around his hips. 

"Don't," Lilandra said in a warning voice. "We didn't come here to freak them out."

"Great, you're telling me all the Jedi are this species? No wonder they weren't identified before now!" Mara put in.

"Would explain Yoda, wouldn't it?" Anakin asked, turning to Luke, who was still watching the creature – Teghan, he assumed – with great interest. 

Tara had decided to answer Teghan's question, producing a copy of the galaxy map from the pocket of her flightsuit and unfolding it deliberately. 

"We received a message from your world," she explained slowly. Teghan drew back from her outstretched hand as though it contained a detonator. Lilandra noticed the slick way in which Tara avoided telling the creature that they had naturally assumed the message was a cry for help. It was a typical politician's way of gaining information for one's own purposes. If the message had indeed been a cry for help, then surely Teghan would know, or at least recommend them to someone who would. 

The creature looked as though she might be about to answer, when a sharp call shattered the pause from some distance away. 

"Teghan! _*Craemok!_*"

" 'Crayon box?' " Anakin repeated fearfully. Luke nudged him in the ribs. 

The voice was male, and sounded slightly threatening. Its exclamation seemed to startle the small Yoda look-alike. Her round head turned madly from side to side, looking for the unseen person through the thick mist. Her shoulders hunched, as if expecting some sort of reprimand.

"I meant them no harm," she croaked, pulling her dark red hood over her face. "Only curious."

From the folds of mist, a man appeared, at some distance still. When he saw the ship, and the seven weary travelers, he broke into a run.

Closer to, they were able to see that he was quite young, clothed in a ragged shirt of the same rich shade as Teghan's robe, and dusty, olive-gray pants. Imperial issue, by the look of them, and although they were torn at the knees and cuffs, the tiny embroidered symbol of a thrice-crossed hexagon was visible on the cargo pockets sewn upon the legs.

He had longish, shaggy black hair, and tanned skin that seemed tinged with a faintest hint of … _silver_. Only Lilandra thought to notice that his eyes were pale hazel, or that his cheeks were flushed from exertion. She paid close attention to his next words, which were spoken in the same foreign language as his call, and with a great deal of irritation as he addressed the creature.

"_Qata ta tanha? Tetya si no ranani dei disos rasunas?_" 

He punctuated this with an indignant sigh. Teghan looked away. 

Lilandra glanced sidelong at Luke, whose expression reflected perfectly her own amazement. 

The young man turned to the group, with the look of one preoccupied as he shuffled his feet in the dirt. His next words sounded apologetic, and were spoken in carefully measured basic that carried the faint hint of a lilting accent.

"She always forgets the rules, eh? She's impossible … some … times …"

He trailed off as he dared to glance up, and realized that he didn't recognize the people he was addressing. His eyes widened, and he shot a glance at Teghan.

"Backpack, _now_," he commanded, and Lilandra watched, fascinated, as Teghan handed him the rake, shimmied up his left leg, and fastened herself quite willingly into a roughly-hewn cloth harness that was strapped to the young man's broad shoulders. 

"Now," he breathed, appearing a tad fearful. "_Who_ are you, exactly?"

There was a huskiness in his voice that hadn't been there before. His eyes flicked instantly to the senator, and Lilandra felt her stomach flip over backwards. 

She cast a wide-eyed glance behind her at Luke, who nodded encouragingly. He had apparently spoken directly to her, and so she answered.

"I'm …"

She stopped, her mouth moving but no sound emerging, much to her horror.

"Senator Lilandra Ilkhaine of the Allied Republic," Jaina cut in, her own voice full of a mirth that Lilandra didn't much appreciate. "You'll have to excuse her, she's single – " 

"Singular in this galaxy," Lilandra growled, pushing Jaina aside with a hostile glare. "Thank you for that accurate appraisal, my friend."

She smiled charmingly at the young man, who stared back, apparently caught somewhere between turning around and walking away or jumping her bones right then and there. He settled on an uncertain grin. 

"I'm glad to see you speak our language," Lilandra said, her composure regained for the time being. 

"Your language?" the young man replied, with an air of ironic wisdom that seemed to belie his apparent youth. "I was under the impression that it was ours, but I guess that's the dangerous thing about generalizations."

Lilandra and Jaina exchanged an amazed look.

"You're absolutely right," Lilandra replied, feigning superiority that she sincerely hoped he understood to be a joke, "but I suppose in this case, such a generalization is just a fortunate coincidence."

The young man smiled knowingly through closed lips, and tilted his head to the side in unspoken agreement. Lilandra dared to continue on behalf of the group, which was unnervingly silent, watching this exchange with gleeful amusement.

"What I was trying to say before I … got something stuck in my throat – " her shoulders tensed as she heard Jaina and Tara snickering behind her, " – is that we are representatives of the outside government known as the Allied Republic, and have come to your world in aid of a message we received last week from your world."

She snatched the map from Tara's hand, baring her teeth at the giggling blonde. 

"*_You tell him, sweetheart,*_" Anakin mouthed beside her. 

Lilandra handed the map to the man, praying with all her might that Anakin had not seen his fingers brush lightly against her own as he took it, nor the involuntary shiver that had succeeded his touch. 

He gazed at the map for a moment, his expression wavering between hesitance and recognition for a moment. Pressing his lips together, he glanced up at Lilandra again, a secretive sort of glance that turned her knees to ice water and filled her with the flutter of anxiety she always felt when she knew someone was reading her mind. Whatever he happened to observe in her head, though, he had the tact to keep it quiet. 

"My name is Cace Lendene," he said instead, pressing his palm warmly to Lilandra's outstretched one before moving onto the others. The universal gesture of shaking hands appeared to be beyond him. 

Cayce _Lend_-een. That was how he said his name, with an unusual but endearing pride evident in his tone. 

His eyes fell on Luke, who stepped forward.

"Luke Skywalker, pleased to meet you," he said. Lilandra couldn't help but notice how sick he was looking. There were unflattering circles under his eyes, and his hair was in disarray. He was plainly nervous. "I'm the leader of this group."

"Power trip!" Anakin blared, and Tara and Jaina dissolved into giggles again. Mara silenced them with an icy glare. 

Cace actually smiled, an infectious, toothy grin quite different from the reverent smirk he had earlier bestowed upon Lilandra, and one that changed the entire look of his face, making him seem much younger than he'd first appeared – boyishly adorable – and Lilandra had to shut her eyes. She put a hand to her mouth and grinned hard behind it, clenching her teeth together. 

She could not tear her eyes from Cace. He seemed to almost _glow_ with that odd silver tint on his skin, and even though he addressed Luke, his gaze flicked back to meet hers every so often. She tried to construct some semblance of an expression that was both indifferent and yet engaged, habitually pressing her hair flat with one hand to determine its state.

" … Assumed the message might be some sort of call for help," Luke was saying. "Of course, we're only assuming that you're one of …"

Luke didn't seem sure of how to proceed. "Assuming that this world _is_ Terapinn, the last unregistered penal colony to be established by the late Emperor Palpatine."

Cace looked … well, his expression was hard to describe. It was partially hesitant, partially relieved. Lilandra supposed she'd look rather the same if, after some indeterminate amount of time, seven aliens had turned up in her field, offering to help an extinct cause. She could already tell that he was a man plagued by the intrigue of indecision: a deep thinker. Infuriating yet adorable. Her smile got fifty feet wider. 

"Perhaps I should take you up to our settlement," Cace said quietly, almost to himself, after a moment's consideration. "If that's alright, of course?"

Lilandra whirled around and gave Luke a disgustingly beseeching look before straightening up and brushing her hair back behind her shoulders self-importantly. A claw had suddenly materialized in the pit of her stomach and was apparently attempting to tunnel its frantic way out. Her stomach growled with hunger, and she crossed her arms over her abdomen, fruitlessly trying to muffle the sound. Dave stared at her with marked amazement.

"Of course. We've come all this way," Luke replied slyly, sneaking a glance at Lilandra, who beamed. "It would be a shame not to at least explore."

Cace looked cheerful. "Well, then, follow me," he said brightly, and set off along the path, Teghan's domed head bobbing over the top of the harness on his back, the expression on her protracted face nothing less than tense. 

The path, comprised of packed gray stones, wound across the patchwork of fields towards the hillocks looming in the distance. As they began a climb up the side of one of them, trees suddenly seemed to spring up out of nowhere, shielding them from view – and blocking them from a quick return to the _*Jadesaber*_, Lilandra noticed. 

The trees began to thin out again, however, as they entered the shadow of the mountain towering on their right, giving way to purplish rock outcroppings and cracked stone plateaus. At the peak of the hill, the entire river basin stretched away below them, the water sparkling in the muted light between gaps in the rich foliage enfolding the flat plain beneath. 

"Sure is beautiful here, eh?" Jaina said, breathing hard as she jogged to catch up to Lilandra, who gave her a vacant stare. Jaina saw Cace striding along purposefully, some twenty feet ahead, and poked her friend. "Why don't you just go up and talk to him?" she asked teasingly.

"That would imply something," Lilandra answered evasively. She risked a glance behind her, where Tara and Anakin were dancing around Luke and Mara, bantering loudly with them. Lilandra caught the word 'dipsomaniac', hollered gleefully by Anakin, who clearly thought he was being smart until his uncle swatted him upside the head, drawing a snort of laughter from Tara. 

Lilandra's eyes wandered to the back of Cace's head again, and Jaina snickered.

"Someone's got a crush on our tour guide," she sang knowingly, and Lilandra stiffened. 

"Nix on the accusations, Jainy," she warned in a low voice, but was seized with a brief, yet tantalizing vision of herself and Cace tangled up in a passionate embrace on one of the _*Jadesaber*_'s couches.

She blushed furiously, forcing the vision from her head, but not before she was suddenly assaulted by an icy cold that raced down her spine. She gave a piercing shriek, and whirled to face Dave, who was grinning sheepishly as he poured the water from his canteen down the back of her jersey. 

"Too preoccupied to notice an attacker," he clucked in mock admonition. "What's happened to your constant vigilance, Senator? Too busy memorizing Lendene's behind?"

"Who shot who in the what now?" Anakin gasped, appearing suddenly at Lilandra's side. "I heard something about a behind, and simply couldn't resist!" 

He squealed girlishly, putting on a fake strut. "Do I look fat in this?" he asked Dave, pulling discerningly at the waistband of his flightsuit.

"Hardly, darling, but the color is _*all wrong*_!" Dave simpered. "With that skin tone, I think you need to go for more of a pastel detailing – perhaps something in mauve …"

"Enough!" Lilandra snapped, but Anakin's melodramatic posing had attracted Luke and Mara to the scene.

"What did I miss?" Mara asked eagerly, slinging one arm over Luke's shoulders and the other around Lilandra's.

"Only Lilandra's quiet affirmation of affection for _*Cace Lendene*_," Anakin crooned.

"Oh, _*Cace_*!" Dave screamed ardently, beating his fists against his chest and flinging his head back in a wild gesture of submission. Lilandra ducked behind Luke, cringing as Cace stopped, and turned.

"Someone call?" he asked good-naturedly. Lilandra let out a dry sob, halfway between laughter and tears.

Dave and Anakin stopped pretending to preen themselves, and put on a face of wide-eyed innocence instead. 

"Nope, nope, we're all good back here," Anakin called as Lilandra bent over and turned her laughter into an aggressive coughing fit, hiding her smile in the crook of her elbow. 

"Your senatorial friend alright?" Cace pointed to Lilandra, who turned her back to him. 

"Consumption," Dave explained sympathetically, and Lilandra emitted a particularly violent cough.

"Oh," said Cace, confused until he caught Lilandra's eye. Peering at him from behind her elbow, her eyes held a sly, mischievous look that included him at once in their private joke. He felt a kind of warmth spread through his shoulders and into his palms, which tingled as he held her gaze there. He smiled, knowing that Senator Lilandra Ilkhaine had accepted him already. The smile was to let her know that he appreciated it. Lilandra straightened, her cheeks still flaming crimson, and glared at her friends.

"I thought you only went for older men, Lil," Mara hissed deviously into her ear.

"How do you know he's not older?" Lilandra hissed back, frowning. 

"Oh, come on! You'd be robbing the cradle with this one, dear," Mara laughed.

"Sure, ruin all my fun," Lilandra pouted.

"Don't worry, Lil," Tara said quietly. "Your secret's safe with us." 

Lilandra scowled at the path, watching her feet. "I have a hard time believing that one …" she muttered, and promptly walked into something tall, cold, and discouragingly solid. 

She stumbled backwards, clutching her forehead and whimpering, and dared to peek at what she'd collided with. One column of a crumbling stone arch stood facing her like a glaring sentinel, and even given her edgy mood, she didn't fail to notice that it was inscribed with writing identical to the writing on the walls in the Temple of the Galaxy. She motioned Luke over.

"Look," she whispered. "Look familiar?"

Luke nodded, his eyes widening, and they ran to catch up with the others. 

Cace was now leading them down a steep embankment, towards what appeared to be another planet altogether: green, cultivated, and _*very*_ heavily populated. 

Tens of hundreds of sturdy wooden dwellings, the smallest no bigger than a guard hut and the largest easily a hundred feet long and open-fronted, had been erected in a circle on the lip of another outcropping that fell away at least a hundred feet to the river below, and among them were _people_, flitting about like silver ghosts before Lilandra's disbelieving eyes.

In the center of the circle of dwellings was a massive courtyard, its most striking attribute a huge bonfire surrounded by smooth, polished logs upon which more people sat, yards of white fabric at their feet. Some ten feet away, at the entrance to the long communal building, four men were working at a wooden table that was at least twenty feet in length and solid as rock, carving an enormous wolf-like creature that lay bleeding before them. 

There were people entering and exiting the dwellings, people traveling the same path upon which the Yavin crew stood, in the opposite direction, towards where it dived off down the escarpment towards the river. 

Below a steep fall of trees and banked by the verdant foothills of the easternmost mountain, the water glittered gray and gold in the waning light. Thin skiffs glided effortlessly on the current in silhouette, guided by long, gently curved poles, while cloud shadows flickered across the flat, blank faces of the hills.

Back on the plateau, a man and a woman appeared at the top of the steep, treed escarpment, dragging a net full of large, struggling fish, their multitude of fins flashing silver in the sunshine. 

Dripping garments hung on twisted ropes between mid-sized dwellings, ragged hems flapping in the crisp breeze, while women in white robes and leather aprons labored, red-faced, over steaming vats positioned by the fire, churning the darkened water with whittled branches.

Small children chased each other through the soft, yellowed grass between dwellings, and along the narrow, pressed stone paths that weaved between the rows. Boys trailed after the men striding down the fishermen's path to the river, where the back of another low wooden dwelling could be seen, though its purpose was hidden behind its smooth walls.

Voices drifted up the hill to the missionaries – the sharp reprimands of mothers, the laughter and chattering of laboring girls, the shouts and giggles of the children, the strident barks of the men – a bewildering mixture of basic and a fluid, expressive dialect, all syllables of consonant followed by vowel, with nothing at all to suggest that it had its roots in another language. It seemed entirely made-up … a secret code, almost, that only the large handful of beings below them could speak and understand, but it was beautiful and stirring to listen to, the way it seemed to roll off the tongue of each individual who spoke it without any hesitation.

Above the din and the bustle, the smell of fire drifted up to the missionaries, sharp and tangy, warming them to their toes, and they tasted copper on their tongues. The whole of the place below them had an atmosphere of mystery, an ancientness that belied the mere twenty years it had allegedly been in existence. 

It was here that Cace stopped them, and gestured to the bustling village below. 

"Welcome to Whilldri," he said softly, and his eyes met Lilandra's with the precision of a tractor beam. She was immediately pulled in by the thinly veiled curiosity that flashed in them. 

The others watched them with adolescent anticipation, until Luke broke the awkward silence. 

"Whilldri?" he asked.

"Does the name surprise you?" Cace asked cryptically, smiling an equally secretive smile. Luke seemed to understand, though, and this was even more puzzling.

"Well … yes – I can't help but think of the Wills …" he trailed off suddenly, his face lighting up. "The Wills?"

Cace nodded, and grinned in a way that was so spontaneous that Lilandra was reminded something of her herself. 

"Who-ills," he corrected them, over-enunciating the whisper of the double consonant so that they might understand. "As in the same Wills who wrote the Journal upon which the faith of the modern Jedi is based. Direct descendants, actually, but, well, you know, with an 'h'. Same principle. Whilldri – that's just a throwback to our old tendency to name everything we encounter."

Luke looked as though he'd just found a solid gold bar. He turned to his companions to explain hastily.

"The Wills were a race of Jedi … the first, actually … they were friends with the Masassi." 

He looked at Lilandra. "Why didn't we think to check the Journal? It's the most obvious connection!"

Lilandra understood what he was saying – this was a little darker, a little more complicated than anything she had envisioned they'd find on this trip, but after all the surprises they'd encountered today, from the ephemeral flicker in the Force aboard the ship, to the realization that Terapinn harbored vanished Jedi in the midst of all its clouds and mist, the pieces did seem to fall into place, including the reason for the Wills' imprisonment. 

"Seems to make Palpatine's motive fairly clear," she pointed out, and sighed resignedly. "I guess even the ancients weren't exempt from his Great Jedi Genocide, historically important or not. He just … didn't want anyone to _know_."


	13. Verina

~13~

Verina

  


"Have I hit it close to the mark?" Lilandra asked Cace, and basked in his pleased grin when he nodded. 

"Our perspective is somewhat different, and a lot more interesting, though," he said. "If it is alright with Verina, I will make arrangements to have a telling tonight. That is … well, you did plan on staying, right?"

What _*was*_ that roguish sparkle in his eyes? The way he talked, it almost seemed as though he had been expecting their arrival. But then again, he was a Jedi, and likely a strong one at that. There was no reason for them not to assume that he hadn't foreseen this long ago. 

"If it's not too much trouble," Lilandra answered quickly, and glanced at Luke for confirmation. He smiled his agreement.

"We _*have_* come an awfully long way," he said. "However – who is this Verina of whom you speak?"

"She is the oldest person in the Whilldom – over a hundred years old. No one knows exactly for sure. Age is a ruse, Verina feels, and she discourages its use as a descriptive tool. Ageism, I've heard tell, is a problem *_out there*,_" Cace replied. 

He said *_out there*,_ presumably meaning the galaxy, with a certain degree of fear, an uncertainty of the uncertain, really.

Lilandra laughed at this. 

Cace shrugged. "Instead of using ageist stereotypes, we look upon birth-days as another year lived successfully, not a number on a time scale."

"But do you *_know*_ your actual ages?" asked Jaina, also giggling.

"Of course," Cace replied, with a knowing smile. "Each of us keeps track, somehow. I keep a tally underneath my bed frame."

"And how old *_are*_ you?" Lilandra prompted, grinning more because Cace had referred to his bed frame than because the idea of keeping secret tallies of your own age was amusing. 

"Assuming I've counted right, twenty-three years of age," Cace said, and to her delight, actually winked at her, drawing a shocked stare from Mara.

"_*Twenty-three!*"_ she mouthed, and Lilandra grinned smugly, as if to say, "I told you so."

"Verina has never kept any tally, however," Cace was saying. "If she knew about the tallies, she'd be angry, so I'd appreciate if you'd keep that little fact quiet. She's devout in her teachings, but I suppose a good leader must be devout. She is nonetheless very wise, and *_very*_ mysterious, and *_very*_ powerful. Personally, I think she believes that if she doesn't think about how old she is, it won't catch up with her."

"Fascinating," Luke said. "So she's your leader?"

"Keeper," Cace corrected him, but nodded anyway.

Cace had begun to lead them now through the spirals of dwellings towards the center courtyard, and all around them, people stared as though all eight of them had sprouted two extra heads. 

Cace greeted several people along the way, including a group of three girls who couldn't have been more than about sixteen, all of whom turned bright red and giggled secretively amongst themselves, their heads pressed together. Closer to the fire, two men dressed in clothes almost identical to him raised their hands and inclined their heads in greeting, their eyes flicking suspiciously to the missionaries.

Lilandra noticed how similar they all looked – they all had hair of various shades of black and deep brown, luminous eyes of hazel, green, or grayish-blue, and that strange silver skin that gave them an almost god-like sheen. She had faint musings about Whill mating rituals, smiling.

They were a fascinatingly attractive people; the females were all tall and long-legged, and the males were strong and muscular, but of a delicate construction.

Lilandra had already noticed that Cace was indeed typical of this attractiveness. About Luke's height, he had a broad, muscular back, and well-defined arms and thighs that gave Lilandra cause to wonder about his job in the village, so to speak. 

"My role in the Whilldri is as a farmer," Cace was explaining to the group – evidently, someone had asked him the same question. "At the time of a child's birth, particularly a male child, it is determined what his role is to be in the future. It's how we have survived, these designations. There are farmers, builders, fishers, hunters, and more specific assignments, such as metalworkers, cobblers, loggers … even fathers are designated from birth. Since all the jobs are of equal importance to our survival, no one here gets ideas above his station."

"What about the women?" asked Jaina the perpetual feminist. 

"All of the above, plus seamstresses, pickers, cooks, and even a few female hunters – the ones that are built to run, anyway. Mothers are the most prestigious designation among females, however, an exception to our usual equality. They lead blessed lives."

At this, Lilandra noticed, Mara shifted her weight uncomfortably back and forth from one foot to another, keeping her head uncharacteristically lowered. Lilandra tried, but found it difficult to apply Cace's statement to Mara, the only mother among them. 

"Can't people of other designations have children?" Mara queried suddenly, having found an area of conversation that seemed to have touched a nerve within her.

"It has happened, but it is generally frowned upon, just as are births outside of an approved marriage. It's all about population control."

Tara, Anakin, and Jaina all looked pointedly at Lilandra.

_ "*What*_?" she mouthed indignantly, spreading her hands.

"So marriage …"

"Is the primary basis for all relationships," Cace shrugged. "You love someone, you get married. No sex until then, either."

Lilandra busied herself with staring around at the village, knowing full well that Tara and the other youngsters were simply dying to poke her in the ribs and make teasing, sympathetic eyes at her.

"He said *_sex*_!" Jaina hissed gleefully in Lilandra's ear, and she swore she felt her heart drop into her knees. She took a step away from their delight, and stumbled on the uneven ground, prompting raucous laughter from the girls.

"Can non-designated people get married too, though?" she asked, covering up her clumsy moment.

Cace stared at her, apparently seconds away from laughing. "Yes," he said, and there was a hint of tenderness in his voice. "Of course; we like love."

"Interesting way of doing things they've got around here," muttered Mara under her breath. "Safer."

Luke gave her a teasing smack on the bottom, and she squealed, looking miffed. 

"Safer," she said resolutely, and folded her arms over her chest.

  


After a brief tour of the courtyard, Cace led them away from the circle of the dwellings to the underside of the stone outcropping they had just come down, where a thin curtain of vines trailing down from the cliff's edge above concealed a dwelling that was far larger than any of the others they had passed on the way in. It was of a different construction than the long communal dwelling, which Cace had explained as an indoor dining hall and hospital, in a manner of speaking. 

This building was a bungalow, with a slanted overhanging roof that was supported by two majestic columnar tree trunks. These were carved with more of those cryptic runes and willowy dancing figures.

Parting the green ropes, Cace held them aside for the group to pass through, and then let them fall again, enclosing them in shadow and hiding them from the prying eyes of the other Whills.

"Wait here," Cace instructed them, and ventured ahead to the open front door of the dwelling, where two tall, lean Whill women were standing guard alongside the polished columns. They were lavishly clothed in diaphanous white dresses, with robes of rich burgundy draped upon their shapely frames, their waists festooned with a multitude of thin belts of spun gold thread. Lilandra and Jaina exchanged disbelieving glances. 

"Wedaika," Lilandra heard Cace say to the round-faced woman on the left. She smiled at him and nodded, and it occurred to Lilandra that Wedaika must be the girl's name. 

"Najou." Cace turned to the woman on the right, who did not smile. "_Verina_ _estai_?"

The woman nodded, and disappeared beyond the shadows of the doorway, her head raised self-importantly, as though she were a page delivering a message to a queen. Cace returned to the group in her absence.

"Did those women get designated to be guards?" Jaina asked. She was beginning to catch on the idea of birthrights.

"Er … no … not exactly," Cace replied, and lowered his voice. "It is not the honorable position that it seems at outward appearance. Verina's watchers are none other than the village women who have had children out of designation or wedlock. They are hidden here, behind the curtain, so that the village is not reminded of the shame they have brought us."

He turned his eyes to Lilandra. "They have a particular sensitivity to generalizations," he said knowingly, his gaze admiring.

"What about their children?" Jaina asked, looking horrified. 

"They are given to other families at birth and raised as though they were born of that family. They are never permitted to know their true parents. The women serve Verina until she feels that they have done enough penance. Then, they return to their previous designations, although it is not an easy transition. The woman who just went inside, Najou, just gave birth a month ago. She is still in mourning."

"And her lover? What happened to him?" Lilandra asked. 

Cace just gave her a pained look, appearing more than a little uncomfortable as he personally recalled the offending man's fate.

"We hold women in just as high esteem as men here, contrary to your beliefs," was all he said. "Najou's partner has … been dealt his punishment."

Lilandra saw Anakin and Dave exchanging highly unnerved glances. 

"Let's just say his fate was the worst a man could possibly imagine," Cace told the group with a meaningful look at Dave and Ani. 

"He was killed?" Tara asked dubiously.

"Worse," Cace whispered, but did not elaborate. Lilandra, however, noted that Dave had suddenly placed a hand protectively over the front of his pants.

"No," he breathed, going white.

"Yes," Cace said sternly, then grinned again. "So, hands off the merchandise while you're here."

At that moment, Najou returned, and motioned Cace forward. 

"_* Hata ye moy, garagakesh*_," she hissed sardonically, stony-faced, and pushed him towards the door. 

Cace strode ruefully forward, flushing faint pink and lowering his head as he beckoned for the group to follow him into the darkened dwelling. 

"What did she say?" asked Lilandra, falling into step beside him. 

"She is jealous of my freedom," Cace replied evasively. "Her lover was a friend of mine." He then lapsed into momentary silence.

The inside of the dwelling was quiet and clean, lit by open stone lanterns mounted on the walls of a narrow hallway, in which the group found themselves standing. Cace held up his hand for them to wait, and presently, another serving girl came scurrying up. 

She was younger than Najou and Wedaika, with a sweet, round face, pale, sparkly blue eyes, and a cheerful smile. She didn't look much older than the girls Cace had greeted outside in the village, perhaps about fifteen or sixteen, and was not as lavishly dressed as the watchers outside. Rather, she was clothed in a simple white cotton dress that was cut mid-calf and fitted around her minimal bust, with an olive green apron tied around her petite waist. 

Cace bent down and kissed her quickly on the cheek, and placed a hand warmly on her bare shoulder. 

"This one is not here for the usual reasons," he told the group, grinning. "This is my sister, Ilsa. She is a designated mother, but until she comes of age, she comes _here_, to learn housekeeping."

"Got quite a way with words, doesn't he," Mara commented dryly in Lilandra's ear. Lilandra smirked. 

Ilsa stared at the seven people in front of her, looking taken-aback but accepting enough.

"Outlanders," Cace told her her, and she nodded knowingly, though her eyes seemed to widen with awe as she took in Mara's formidable appearance. "I'll explain later."

"Ay. _Te lata ta._" Ilsa said. "You can go in now."

She curtseyed hurriedly to her brother and his guests, more out of habit than out of genuine respect, and trotted off down the corridor again. Cace followed. 

At the end of the hallway, they found themselves in a small room even more dimly lit than the corridor. The only source of light was a small rectangular window near the ceiling, and a few lumpy candles that were scattered on the floor and the lopsided wooden shelves pushed against the wall. Either Najou or Ilsa had set eight overstuffed, intricately embroidered pillows in a circle before a door on the opposite wall of the room, and Cace waved his hand at them, inviting his guests to sit down.

Lilandra chose a large, hand-sewn cushion in the middle, and sank down into it, crossing her legs. Jaina sat on her right, Cace on her left.

"This is Verina's receiving room," Cace informed them. "She greets everyone in here. I don't think anyone has actually seen the inside of her quarters, not even the watchers."

He pointed through the door facing them, which opened as if on cue. Lilandra tried to peer around the person blocking the doorframe and into the room beyond, but as far as she could tell, it was in pitch darkness. Resolved, Lilandra focused her attention on Verina, who had just entered the dim room, and was surprised by what she saw. 

Verina's hair was long, and white and smooth as the snows of the mountain peaks and draped luxuriously from the pointed tridents of a heavy silver headdress that embraced her high forehead. The face beneath it, although characteristically burnished, was very old indeed. 

Her chin was prominently pointed; it might have been an attractive feature if it had not been festooned with overlapping wrinkles and a sagging throat, and if she had not looked as though she had not smiled in her entire life. Her lips were even now drawn together in a stubborn frown, and her crystal blue eyes, though undoubtedly her most striking feature, were cold and unfriendly.

Like Najou and Wedaika, she was clothed in a shimmering white gown that hung loosely on a body that seemed comprised mainly of paper skin stretched over hard, pointed bones, and a burgundy sash was slung over her right shoulder, fastened at her narrow hips. It was plain to see that, at one point in time, Verina had probably been an extraordinarily beautiful woman, but she was now so gaunt, so emaciated, it was hard to imagine her otherwise. 

She stood before them, her back rod-straight, her shoulders squared, and exhaled slowly as she passed her unforgiving gaze over all their faces. Her breath sounded as dry as a fistful of sand running through a plastic funnel. 

"Luke Skywalker," she said, and arched a narrow, white eyebrow. 

Luke was about to question her knowledge of his name, but stopped himself. He had already been moderately famous before the exile of the Whills to Terapinn, assuming their calculations were correct. 

"I had been wondering when I might see you here, you hero of the Republic, you savior of the wretched and low-down," Verina continued, and there was a hint of sarcastic amusement in her sandpapery voice. 

Already, Luke was frowning his most serious farm-boy frown. 

"Free your mind of questions," Verina said loosely. "It is I who will be asking the questions."

Luke nodded complacently. Lilandra noticed with a certain sensation of distrust that the woman's voice was free of the accent that both Cace and Ilsa carried in their basic speech.

"So, my dear. How is it that you have come to us here? Heard whispers in the hallways, did you?"

Luke opened his mouth to answer, but Verina interrupted him.

"I suppose even war heroes can't resist gossip every once in a while. I must say, I'm surprised you had the foresight to bring a team with you. Didn't want to hog the glory this time?"

It was hard to tell, but was Verina actually … making fun of him?

"Oh, now, don't look so concerned," she said breezily. "I perfectly understand your pilgrimage. I'm sure you thought you'd stumble across a diminished group of poor, frail excuses for human beings, starving and cold or worse. You brought along a doctor – " she flashed her eyes at Tara, who recoiled, " – how thoughtful of you. I'm sure our little well organized civilization must come as quite a shock to you, but tell me – aren't you pleased? You won't even have to work for your glory this time, Skywalker. It's all laid out for you here. We've already done the dirty work. We're just counting on you to share our secrets with the galaxy."

Lilandra risked a glance at Luke. Until now, she had been staring straight ahead, absorbing Verina's thinly veiled criticisms, but she had to see how Luke was taking it. He was sitting with his hands folded in his lap, his head bowed submissively, listening also. It was difficult to see in the dim light, but Lilandra could have sworn she saw tears in his eyes. 

Cace, also, she saw, was looking markedly agitated. His fingers were laced through thick bunches of his dark hair as he stared down at his dusty leather sandals, his palms poised over his ears. She felt a flash of pity for the young man, though she couldn't begin to guess at the source of Cace's fear of Verina. 

"That's enough for today, I think," Verina said, shooting a look of pure poison at Lilandra, who stared ahead of her again. "Cace."

Cace rose, and bowed to his leader. His hands were shaking. 

"Najou tells me you have requested for your guests to hear our story tonight. I think that is a most excellent idea. Perhaps it will aid them in clarifying their intentions for their stay here."

"Then they have permission to remain in the Whilldom?" Cace asked cautiously, as though hardly daring to believe his ears.

"For as long as they feel is necessary," Verina replied. It sounded as though she was convinced they wouldn't need long to make up their minds and go home. Her cockiness angered Lilandra slightly. "Please feel free to use the four empty dwellings on the outskirts of the circle," she addressed the group serenely. 

"Perhaps we'll meet again soon."

"Or perhaps not," Anakin muttered under his breath as Verina breezed back through her door, and the group rose to depart. 

  


Once outside the dwelling, the Yavin crew regrouped in a circle and began talking angrily amongst themselves. 

" 'We're just counting on you to share our secrets with the galaxy'," Tara mocked fiercely. "Honestly, where does she get off, talking to you like that, Luke?"

"We didn't even get to tell her about the map, or the Force flickers!" Jaina cried. 

"Well, no!" Anakin sighed. "We couldn't get a word in edgewise!"

Cace could see that they were plainly upset, so he stepped in, placing his hands on the shoulders of Jaina and Tara. He seemed to have made a quick recovery upon their return to the fresh air and light. "How would you all like a tour of the village? I know Verina can be a little harsh sometimes, but half of what she says is just senility setting in. She doesn't trust many people since … well … since we came here."

"Do you get many visitors, then?" Lilandra asked bitterly.

"Well … no," Cace admitted, grinning in spite of himself. "I think you just surprised her, that's all. Give her a few days to mull it over. She knows you're all here with good intentions. She just doesn't know what to make of it. She designed this civilization you see before you to be entirely self-sufficient – as if to show Palpatine that we were unaffected by his cruel disposal of us"

"I'll bet Palpatine never figured that these people would *_like* _it here," Mara mumbled, but she accepted Cace's offer of a tour on behalf of everyone, and turned to her husband.

"Coming, Luke?"

She had noted the pained expression on his face. Everyone had. 

"No," he said quietly. "I think maybe I'll head back to the ship and get the rest of our things, if that's alright with everyone?"

The group nodded, and set off to follow Cace, but Mara was not satisfied. Meeting him in three long strides, she slipped her arms around Luke's waist and kissed him softly on the forehead. "Don't worry about it, Luke," she said quietly. "She's a crazy old woman, like me."

Luke smiled sadly, and brushed her hair back from her face. "May the Force help me if you ever get that bad," he joked weakly, and pulled out of her embrace. "Go on, go with the others. I'll be fine."

With that, he turned and walked away up the path, where he was swallowed by the trees and the ever-moving shadows. 


	14. Teghan Advises

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


~14~

Teghan Advises

  


Luke was halfway to the ship before he realized that he was being followed. 

He paused on the wooded path, discerning a presence behind him, and turned to see Teghan, their first Terapinn contact. 

This puzzled him, as he had not yet clearly identified Teghan's role in the Whilldom. He had not seen any others of her species, and she had seemed to answer to Cace Lendene as a superior, a master, or even an owner. Perhaps she had broken the rules by slipping away to follow him, but it was clear from the expression on her weathered face that there was a matter of some urgency that she wanted to discuss with him. 

"Wait, Skywalker," she ordered unnecessarily, for Luke was already standing patiently at the side of the path, his hands in his pockets, watching her limp towards him. Frustration and hurt were still coursing through him, and when Teghan had caught up, he resumed walking, reminding himself to put one foot in front of the other, keep going, force away the forbidden feelings – just like everyday, punishing himself for feeling strongly though staying mild had come to be a punishment in itself.

"Skywalker," Teghan panted, tugging feebly at his shirttail. "We must stop."

Thick annoyance welled up in Luke, but he obeyed, following Teghan to a boulder at the side of the path, upon which she climbed and squatted, settling onto her voluminous robes. Luke sat next to her – he was positive now that Teghan was female – on the flat part of the boulder, cross-legged, and gazed down at his pursuer.

Her violet eyes, shrouded in wrinkled sockets, peered at him with more cohesion than she had displayed thus far, and Luke was reminded of Yoda and his harmlessly crazy front, hiding an alarmingly perceptive interior. 

"You are of ill disposition," she pointed out.

"That's a clever euphemism," Luke growled. "Where we come from, we call it being angry."

He didn't know why, but he felt very mean all of a sudden.

"You are always like this?" Teghan asked innocently.

Luke knotted his hands into fists, which he hid behind his back. "Most of the time anger or any kind of detrimental negative emotion is considered dangerous and something like a crime, but I do allow myself the odd tantrum when I perceive that I've been had."

Teghan seemed to find this wildly funny, perhaps because he was speaking to her in the same riddles she had addressed him with, and showed this by laughing long and loudly at him. Her laugh was like the hot scrape of a blade through thick alloy, and Luke shuddered.

"Had by what?" Teghan scoffed, ending her gleeful outburst as abruptly as she had begun it.

"Verina." Luke angled his head in the direction of the village. Teghan fell silent, nodding.

"Ah," she murmured quietly. "I see, I do. Affronted by the truth, Skywalker?"

"Truth!" he spat. "Her comments were unjustified."

Teghan shook her head, folding her horned hands in her lap. "I saw many years in the galaxy beyond before this people ceded their land and were made to come here, and never once did the possibility of death cross their minds. Not before, and not now. Tell me, Skywalker, what did you expect to find here?"

Very clever, Luke thought, to explain the secret of the Whills' success before asking him his expectations. It would make his answer sound so much more removed from the truth. How many times had he used this same tactic on his students, on Tara Jaksbin when she hovered overwrought outside his office door, on Lilandra when she indulged her passionate nature in fits of horrific temper? A few short lightyears had demoted him from teacher to student. His heart sank into his knees.

"We didn't expect to find … this," he answered quietly, albeit honestly. "We thought your people would be … afraid. Downtrodden. In need of help!"

"You thought you could save us?" Teghan asked.

"Yes ... that was the idea."

"Then how, might I ask, were Verina's comments in any way unjustified?"

Luke frowned, but did not reply. 

"Perhaps your anger is unjustified," Teghan pressed. 

"I don't need disciplining," Luke said darkly. 

"Perhaps not, but you need to clarify your intentions. I can see that you are unsure of how to proceed. If you like, we can use that as your new excuse."

"I don't like being patronized," Luke warned her, but there was no edge in his voice, no rancor towards this creature. He supposed that this was her way of offering help.

"No one likes to admit that they have made a mistake, but clearly, you have."

"And how do you know that my crew didn't intend to just pop round for afternoon tea?" Luke asked, slightly accusingly, and, spurred on by the placidity on her face, a face in need of education in feeling, he let his frustration surge up from the pit of his stomach, exiting his mouth in a flood of bilious words that made his cheeks flush with the realization of their acidity.

"How do you know the galaxy hasn't known about Terapinn for ten years, and everyone has a copy of that … that _damned map_ … and they've all just been too caught up in twenty successive years – twenty years! – of war to care a whit what happened out here?"

Teghan, instead of rising to the verbal bait Luke was dangling before her, regarded him sadly and soberly, seeming to understand the repression he had been facing for months now: children sent away and no one to tell, Mara retreating behind her formidable emotional fortress and no one to tell, the ever-widening rift between the Jedi and the rest of the galaxy and no one to tell, no one who could possibly understand …

Luke shuddered suddenly, and Teghan sighed. 

"If that were the case, if Terapinn had not entered your reality two weeks ago, I presume, you would not be nearly as upset."

She had him there. He slouched down against the boulder, subdued, filling his palms with dust and then opening them to the wind. 

"Luke," she said gently. "Tell me truthfully – your reason for coming here?"

"I already told you: we were under the impression that there were people here who required our assistance."

"No," Teghan repeated firmly, and Luke was suddenly reminded of the way Lilandra had not long ago taken him by the shoulders, stared into his eyes, and repeated her question in the galaxy lake, so that he might understand her meaning. "What was _your_ reason for coming here?"

"I was hoping to find relief, and purpose," Luke explained heavily. "My life is spiraling rapidly into meaninglessness, but I've got no one – nothing … _they_ don't understand, they can't understand." He waved his hand in the direction of the village, indicating the six other missionaries. "They're here because they still believe in doing good things. Their sense of justice is a mirror, not a window – they only see their images, never the state of things beyond their own reflections."

Teghan nodded appreciably, shrugging slightly. "And you?"

Luke attempted to stare evenly into her eyes, destroying any notion of regret about his next words, but the gesture was fake even before he had a chance to speak them. He looked away. "Caught up … like them … in the excitement of an adventure. Holding up the mirror between Verina and myself."

A guilty silence followed the statement, into which Teghan sighed and grinned.

"Still feeling 'had'?" she asked dryly. Luke declined response, so she continued.

"You see now the ways misdirected anger can lead to conflict? What if Verina had been the leader of a political opposition, and the future of the galaxy was at stake? What you might have mistaken as a blatant insult to your integrity is really an accurate impression of the facets of your personality you need to change in order to effectively live. Wars have been started over less."

"You're confusing the physical with the emotional," Luke stated blandly, without really understanding why he was resisting Teghan's logic.

"No," Teghan replied firmly. "Wars do not only occur on the galactic or civil scale. Wars have been fought within individuals as well, and too many times, the individual has lost. Insanity, anger, hatred, murder – all have been carried out in the name of personal justice, and only because the individual perceives that he has been done an injustice, but has lost the war between conscience and self-defense."

Luke smirked sadly. "So, why are you still acting as Verina's house pet, hmm?"

"Because it is prudent for the time being," Teghan shrugged. "I cannot complain – I am well cared for. I have won my personal war of pride versus sensibility, and have accepted the option that will permit me to live. Glory isn't everything, Skywalker. Somewhere along the line, every political hero has to come to terms with that."

"But how do I apply that to this situation? What do I tell my comrades now that they have been proven useless for the time being? All this truth does nothing to interrupt the futility of defense and deed."

"Do not mourn that we live, but appreciate that we do not die," Teghan replied simply. "The answer to your dilemma – that being how to proceed – lies within your own acceptance of the situation. Work with what you've been given, Skywalker: a planet full of people with beliefs very different from your own. An opportunity to learn around every corner."

Luke sighed. "But you don't require our assistance?"

"I never said that," Teghan said. "Just because we have been able to survive here doesn't mean that we couldn't have better elsewhere … or that we shall always continue in this manner. Your duty lies in what you are able to convince the people, and Verina, about life in the galaxy beyond. Remember your limitations, but relish your assets: you have six talented, eager crewmates and friends who are ready for hands-on experience in entering the internal battle between good and right, and yourself. The window, Skywalker; look beyond your sorry self." This she punctuated by delivering him a sharp poke in the side with her clawed finger.

It was as if she had borrowed Lilandra's memories of the conversation they'd had just a week before and used them for her own devices. Luke had been complaining that he'd run out of reasons to teach; here was a whole planet full of reasons why he should do just that.

He grinned appreciatively at Teghan, feeling lighter on the whole.

"Digressing for a moment, Teghan, what _did_ you do before you came here?" he asked, wondering how such a creature could have come away with such an advanced perception of internal politics. 

"I was a mole, on the side of the Rebel Alliance," Teghan replied. It was the first time in the last hour that Luke had seen her look subdued. 

Then, she pushed herself off the boulder, and began picking her slow, troubled way back in the direction of the village. 


	15. Dining Out

~15~

Dining Out

  


Cace led the six through the village until dusk began to fall, the steely clouds finally breaking to allow the last dying rays of the sun to paint the sky a gorgeous canvas of crimson and gold. Judging by the clouds already massing at the east mountain's peak, though, the sunset was a false reassurance. 

They would have a storm tonight, most likely, but that didn't seem important to his male guests, who had taken advantage of the brief half hour of pure sunlight to wade in the sparkling river with their pant legs rolled up while the girls sprawled on the grassy bank, entertaining Cace with some stories of their own. 

He found himself drawn to all four of them – each one funny and fierce in their own way. He thought he could probably grow to like Mara, though her sarcasm startled him. She seemed to be a formidably capable woman, and very proud. Cace knew very little about her from before the exile, but from what he'd heard of her experiences, she had once been some kind of a celebrity, although not the kind she had ever dreamed she would become as a child.

Then there was Jaina, young but wise and irreverent, and with an air of fascination about her. She reminded him a bit of his own sister, Ilsa, with her wide-eyed charm and honest humor, and he was most at ease around her.

Tara, the soft-spoken blonde, also piqued his interest. She seemed trustworthy, if a little emotionally distant, and her intelligence was intimidating, but he liked the playful spirit that lurked just behind her studied, cautious smile.

Of all of them, however, the senator proved to have both captured and confused him the most.

The sight of her beside the ship this morning had nearly stopped his heart, and the bold confidence she had displayed when she spoke to him had caused it to pound. He'd had no chance to test her effect on him, however, as her friends had been making a scene about something that clearly embarrassed her, so he had kept his distance from her, and she from him. 

But as afternoon drew slowly into twilight and the air cooled, and the sort of pleasant malaise of evening swept down on them, she had seemed to undergo a change. 

She withdrew from the crowd, staying mostly impartial during the two younger girls' heated debates about everything from their lovers to their adventures and choosing to stare around her with insouciant wonder rather than listen to Cace's own explanations about the bathing system down here on the river and the forgery further up the bank where tools and jewelry were made. Something about that both frustrated and intrigued him. 

He had found that his eyes were drawn to her again and again, and he had already noticed her quiet determination, her detached awe, the strange expressions she made belying the thoughts that were undoubtedly speeding through her brain. Even more interesting, many of the times that he had glanced her way, thinking she had not noticed his attention, he would catch her looking back at him with just as much curiosity.

What he wouldn't have given to have asked her what she was thinking about when he saw her sitting on the riverbank with her arms hugged about her knees, her posture forlorn but her face alight with childish joy. 

She was older than he, he knew, and yet … how much older was she, really, in character? Even Tara's maturity at nineteen seemed to surpass Lilandra's at twenty-six. 

Or, perhaps not maturity, but worldliness. For a senator, Lilandra seemed awfully dreamy. She didn't have the same sharpness about her that Mara and Jaina were possessed of, or Tara and Anakin's obvious intelligence of matters scientific, but she had spirit … knowledge of the soul, most incredibly, her own. It was evident in the way she spoke without thinking at odd times, in her unrestrained, loud laughter, in her eyes when she thought no one was looking. 

By the time they were trooping back up the escarpment to the village, silent and thoughtful, Cace was beginning to feel very taken with Senator Ilkhaine, and he had barely exchanged more than three or four direct sentences with her all day. But there was more time for that, he knew – over dinner and afterwards. 

He made a resolution to find out whether or not the curious affinity he felt for the young woman was in any way romantic, or simply rooted in potential friendship. 

Though, as he watched the deliberate swing of her hips as she walked up the bank, ahead of everyone else, and her broad strides, and her soft-looking waist, and the honey-colored hair that fell in loose waves against her shoulders, he was fairly sure he already knew what the answer was going to be.

  


As night fell on Whilldri, it seemed to come to new, exuberant life. 

Lanterns had been hung in the trees lining the roads twining among the dwellings, and as the darkness settled upon the river valley, transforming the distant mountains into the black silhouettes of hulking giants and the river itself into a velvety indigo ribbon, they were lit and bathed the village in soft yellow light. 

The bonfire in the huge center circle of the dwellings burned higher and brighter than before, stoked and fed by flushed men, their eyes glittering from the smoke, and the beast that had been carved earlier that afternoon now roasted slowly on a spit among the leaping flames as the massive table alongside the fire pit was cleared and set for a gathering of hundreds. 

The Whills emerged from their dwellings, no longer dressed in the mismatching pieces of leather and reclaimed Imperial-issue articles they had all worn in the daytime, but rather had changed into their impressions of finery. 

The women wore the same long, white gowns that the watchers Najou and Wedaika had worn that morning, with shimmering gold sashes adorning their trim waists and angular shoulders. Over the gowns they wore loose, long-sleeved robes, also tied at the waist but left open to display the gown beneath. On their feet they wore jeweled wooden sandals, and some of the younger girls had painted their toenails with some sort of dark red substance. It was a charming sight. 

The men had more or less remained casual, slipping simple white shirts over their previously bare and tanned chests, and donning thick brown slacks and leather sandals. They too wore robes over their attire, though most had chosen to leave them unfastened and trailing behind them, ghostly white wings catching the breeze. 

Even the youngest children wore white and red pinafores over pants that were cropped to the knee, and sleeveless white jumpers. A mother passing with her children in tow had dressed her two daughters' luxurious dark manes with a complicated pattern of elegant braids and white ribbons, and drawn upon each of their temples a symbol that one could only assume represented 'freedom', which, according to Cace, was the central value of the society emulated here in Whilldri, the most beloved relic of the ancient religion.

Indeed, their non-ageist principles were evident as the entire village gathered for the feast in the center circle, whispering and laughing and joking in their rhythmic language or the older ones in plain basic, dancing to the music of the snapping of the fire and the hush of the breeze, under a sky illuminated by a giant white moon and a smaller blue one. It was magical. 

Luke had returned from his walk shortly before nightfall, laden with his companions' baggage but looking noticeably more cheerful, and handed things off to his crew. 

Inspired by the fact that the Whills had obviously dressed in their ceremonial clothes, the Yavin seven hid behind separate dwellings, and changed into the uniforms of the Jedi – soft, fitted sand-colored robes tied at the waist for the girls and looser robes with deep russet sashes slung across the torso for the boys, with their scratchy brown, hooded, open-front cloaks thrown overtop. The girls donned the flat sandals that were currently fashionable on Coruscant, while the boys opted to keep their chunky black boots on. 

Dave, the only non-Jedi among them simply changed into pressed pants and a dark linen jacket. 

"The uniform of the commonwealth," he told anyone who asked. 

  


Dinner was a terrific affair. Cace and Ilsa sat with the Yavin crew in the center of the long table, which was somehow able to accommodate most of the alleged two hundred and thirty-five people in Whilldri. The only people not present from the current population were Najou, Wedaika, and Verina. 

"She rarely eats with the rest of the village," Cace said around a mouthful of roast beef. "Her role is as advisor."

"She doesn't have to eat?" Tara asked, smirking.

"She does it in private," Cace replied, shrugging. "Don't ask me why."

"Maybe she's a sloppy eater," Anakin suggested, and the group exploded with laughter, not for the first time that evening as sweet berry wine was poured and the meat was devoured on plates of painted alloy and wood. 

Mara sat across from her husband on the outskirts of the Yavin group, with the intention of talking to him, but he was being strangely evasive. 

"Crisis over?" she asked him lightly, nudging him in the ribs.

He smiled at her. "I'm not angry with Verina anymore, if that's what you mean," he said. 

"Oh?"

"I see her as less of a threat now, at any rate. She's got a lot of wisdom, really, but has a trying way of imparting it."

Not that this surprised Mara. Luke was a notoriously forgiving man – his entire character had been shaped around that. Try as she might, though, she could not bring him to tell her what had caused this sudden change in attitude. 

After about ten minutes of gentle sparring, she gave up, and turned her attention to a place down the table where a young family sat together, a mother, father, and two boys, the younger of which could not have been more than two. 

He was sitting on his father's knee, up to his elbows in a bowl of green mush of indeterminate origin. As Mara watched, he removed great, dripping fistfuls of the stuff, and proceeded to smear them upon his own lap, clearly with the intention of leaving a stain. His father had obviously noticed this, but he did not snap at the boy, or turn him over his knee right then and there to give him the thrashing of his life. He merely smiled, laughing gently as his son piled his food on the table and began to shape it like a hill.

"Mountain," the boy said clearly, and squinted into the teeming darkness towards the rising slope far beyond the valley. 

Not a mess. A mountain. 

Mara looked away, trying to remember the last time she'd been that patient at dinnertime with Tanya and Nathen. She couldn't think of any sort of occasion. The fact sent a pang of regret through her. Who could know if the last time Nathen had chucked an entire bowl of porridge onto the dining room floor he was planning to turn it into a work of art? He had never made it that far before he found himself sitting in the kitchen sink, having had himself scrubbed pink and wailing more for the loss of his opportunity than his breakfast. 

As she watched, the father of the little boy waited for him to finish building his mountain, then graciously scraped the mushy creation back into the bowl and guided his son's pudgy hand to a spoon, whereupon the boy seemed to understand that it was time to eat, not to play. And eat he did – the entire bowl was emptied in ten minutes. 

Mara sighed, and picked at her own bowl of green mush. Studied impatience never learned to deal with childhood. But perhaps that was why her children were millions of miles away from her, in body and in spirit. 

Before she had an opportunity to _really_ bring herself down, though, the crew erupted with laughter again, and raised their glasses in an enthusiastic toast, drawing her focus from the father and son and towards her immediate surroundings. Mara watched the proceedings with great amusement, noting Lilandra's behavior in particular. 

She poked Luke. "Look at Lil," she whispered, smirking.

Luke did, and grinned. "She and Cace seem to be doing some serious eyeballing, don't they?"

Both of them had made note of the way the two individuals, Whill and Jedi, were gazing at each other with devoted intensity as they knocked their wooden goblets gently together, their gestures automatic but their eyes filled with a sort of dewy mutual admiration. 

To Lilandra, time had slowed to a crawl. She was aware of her friends laughing around her, and of the advance of her hand towards Cace's to toast the latest joke, but she saw only his face, heard him murmur a very modern "Cheers", felt his knuckles brush hers, sending a shock like liquid fire jolting through her. 

She couldn't help but smile, but it was not her usual overbearing beam. It was smile that only he was intended to see, secretive and quiet and proud, its purpose to be representative of the girl she knew she was beneath the girl she had built from nothing to be her outward face. He caught it, and smiled also, though his was devilish, endearing … slightly lecherous. And Lilandra smiled broader.

It was a silent conversation of teeth and lips and it bred the freefalling feeling of space flight in the pit of her stomach, which made her feel dizzy and triumphant at the same time. That is, until …

"Hey, Lil, you can put your cup down now," Anakin bellowed, and the slightly drunken giggles of Jaina and Tara crashed through the barrier of her reverie. The blood rushed into her cheeks, and she set her goblet down with a clatter, looking away. 

Cace was laughing too, but not in the same taunting way as the girls. It was a laugh of identification, and this gave Lilandra hope. She braved a self-deprecating smile. 

As for Cace, he was stunned. 

He'd seen a number of his childhood friends pair off naturally, observed the bashful glances and intentionally accidental brushes of hands that preceded hesitant kisses and the way it all seemed intrinsic, pre-destined, even within the confines of Whilldri. 

They made it look that easy … and Cace couldn't help but feel that if it was that natural to find your soulmate among your fellow prisoners, how simple it must be out there in the rest of the galaxy, with so many others to choose from …

And yet, here was Lilandra, returning his admiring smiles, the only one among her friends without a partner present, and she had yet to mention one who might await her at home, wherever that was. But he suspected that it had not come easily to her as it had to her friends, just as, when all was said and done, and his friends married and made plans to perpetuate, Cace had been left the odd one out. 

To him, women might as well have been alien beings – he didn't, indeed had never had, a 'girlfriend', nor could he honestly name anyone he considered right for the position, though not for lack of wanting one. He could see that Lilandra, on whatever world she inhabited, felt rather the same way. 

Hence their spectacularly bad but remarkably endearing attempt at flirting. 

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of a new presence, which stopped behind him and attracted Lilandra's eye to a point just above his head. Cace turned, recognized, and introduced. 

"Jiro!" he exclaimed amicably before turning back to the table. "Everyone, this is Jiromie Taggant, village historian and Verina's grandson."

"I'll be running the storytelling tonight," the one called Jiromie said. 

He was tall – abnormally tall, Lilandra thought – and blessed with a most unusual mop of curly, dark brown hair, though his long sideburns already appeared to be graying, which meant that he must be about Kerryna's age, at least. 

He was a thin man, with narrow shoulders and skinny biceps, but from what Lilandra could see of his legs, she knew he was undoubtedly strong, a runner by nature, perhaps. 

His face was kindly; he had eyes that were a startling shade of blue-gray. It was the color of the sea before a storm, when the surface becomes as flat as a mirror before the hurricane winds and reflects the oppressive bottoms of the steely clouds until it is neither blue nor black, but a strange, affecting shade that is something different altogether, both alluring and dangerous at the same time. Lilandra found herself liking him already. 

"So you're the guests of honor?" Jiromie asked, looking straight at Lilandra and smiling a crooked but adorable smile. "Introductions! Cace, how were you lucky enough to stumble upon them?"

Cace shrugged. "Only having been exiled to the west field again, no thanks to you, Jiro, you righteous dictator. Jiromie is acting as my teacher," he added for the benefit of the Yavin crew.

"Acting?" Jiromie asked, mystified. "Believe me, it's a full-time job."

To the guests, he explained, "Every child born is assigned a teacher, until such time as they choose to not have one. It's more of a big-brother type system, really. Most children end up choosing their older siblings as teachers anyway, but if you're not lucky enough to have one, you choose someone else."

"Cace is my teacher," Ilsa put in, "but he still has a teacher of his own. It's kind of a hierarchy. Every time Jiro tells him something new, he passes it on to me one way or another."

"How is it that you ended up with Verina's grandson, then?" Jaina asked Cace. "That sounds fairly prestigious."

"I have a soft spot for this kid," Jiromie answered for Cace, placing his palm on the younger man's head.

"We go way back," Cace agreed. "I think it was more Jiromie's idea for me to become his student than mine. I was only three at the time, but I think I'm glad he took the initiative."

"What does he teach you, exactly?" Lilandra asked.

"The Journal," Cace replied matter-of-factly. "And just about anything else that occurs to him."

"I'll explain in the story tonight," Jiromie said gently, noting Lilandra's blank expression. "You've heard of the Journal though, right?"

"Heard of it," Lilandra affirmed. "Many people follow it in the outside galaxy, as I'm sure you know. But I've never read it myself."

Cace was all too happy to enlighten her. "The Journal is the central teaching of the religion of the Whills."

"But you're Jedi, aren't you?" Anakin put in. "When we're at home, we learn from the Holocron – the collective experiences of the Jedi who have come before us."

"The Journal is something like that, only less recent than the Holocron," Cace said. "It is exactly what its name suggests – a journal. It's a diary of the experiences and the prophecies of the very first Jedi, who called themselves Wills before they were known as Jedi."

"Hey, padawan, quit stealing my thunder," Jiromie said good-naturedly, cuffing Cace on the side of the head. "Thinks he's the next prophet, this one. Almighty and knowledgeable."

Cace grinned sheepishly. He couldn't help but feel younger than he was when his teacher was around, and he knew Lilandra had noticed, because she was watching him, her face registering something between amusement and surprise. Perhaps it was because Jiromie always seemed older than he was, somehow. 

"You're all coming to the telling, right?" Jiro asked the group.

"Wouldn't miss it," said Jaina, answering for the rest, who nodded. 

"Excellent. You might want to go now, though, so you can grab a good log. See you by the fire pit?"

"We'll be there," Cace said. 

With a final nod, Jiromie sloped off in the direction of the fire pit, where several other Whills were dragging huge logs that had numerous semi-circles gouged into their surfaces for seats into a circle around it. 

"If you're all finished eating," Cace said, "we should go now, as he said. It's very rare that we have a telling in the village, and people will be anxious to grab good seats. Being the guests of honor and unfamiliar with the story, you should be right up front."

"We're good, right gang?" Anakin asked.

"You bet," Dave replied, rubbing his belly. "Superb nosh. Reminds me of the old days."

"We eat well at the academy," Jaina reminded him, looking vaguely affronted. "Jacen is an excellent cook."

"Yes, but everything he prepares is so … _organic._ It's not proper man-food. Bacon, beans, whiskey, and lard is what we need more of, in my opinion."

"You're such a man, Dave," Jaina scoffed.

"Whoa!" Anakin whooped. "Stop presses! She accused you of being a _man_, heaven forbid!"

"Which, in our books, is woman-speak for 'animal'," Jaina hissed at her brother.

"Hey," Dave shrugged, "I'm not the one who married one, at least!"

"I didn't marry a 'man', I married Dave. There's a subtle difference," Jaina proclaimed philosophically.

"I'm _so_ not going down that road," Anakin said, with mock-horror, drawing laughter from Tara and Lilandra. "Dave, is there something you aren't telling us?"

"You know, he _does_ look stunning in salmon … and those cheekbones!" Lilandra teased, poking Dave in the ribs.

"Damn you, Lil," Dave laughed. "You found me out!"

"Sacrilege!" Jaina hollered. "And to think we shared a bed this last year! We'll see about this."

With that last, she ended the diatribe by grabbing Dave around the middle and kissing him hotly in plain view of all present, making Dave blush to the roots of his blond hair.

"Yep," Jaina smiled. "Still my Dave."

Cace viewed all this with appreciable amusement, finding that he liked the Yavin crew more and more. They were funny; there weren't many opportunities for joking around on Terapinn. It was all work, eat, and sleep, and you had no choice but to be friends with your coworkers, because there was really no one else to befriend. And since you had friends who understood your work, you might sit around in the evenings and talk about how it was coming along, or how good dinner was, or why you had trouble sleeping the night before, but there was never anything different, never anything out of the ordinary. 

Tara and Ani and Jaina and Dave and Lilandra were different. They were unusual, they were interesting, they knew about things Cace had never even imagined before – and some that he had, embarrassingly enough – like space and science and sex and love and organic, non-man food. All these things were commonplace to them; they could easily turn them into an opportunity to start with a funny line and run with it, until they got completely silly like they had just now and wound up appreciating each others' friendship all the more.

"Are you always like this?" Cace asked Lilandra, who had caught up to him as he led them to the fire pit.

"Absolutely," Lilandra smirked, seeming happy that he had spoken first. "Worse, sometimes. It's always Dave and Ani who start it, too – they can't resist the urge to cut up whenever it's prudent. Or even when it _isn't_, crazily enough." She rolled her eyes at this, blushing. Perhaps she was referring to that morning, when he'd heard them railing away at her for some unknown reason as they were walking up the hill to the village. 

"Ah, I love them, though," she continued happily. "They're like my brothers."

"I take it you don't have any siblings of your own?" Cace asked.

"Just one, a sister," Lilandra replied. "She's older, but we're close. I have no complaints."

This was true unto itself, of course, but it only really applied to the last five years. 

"Lucky," Cace said, rolling his eyes. "Sisters can be hell."

He jerked his thumb at Ilsa, who was walking with her girlfriends in a tight knot, yakking away in their native language. 

"She seems nice enough," Lilandra shrugged.

"Nice enough, but a pain in the arse!" Cace smirked. "Love her dearly, of course, but really. She dances around in her underclothes in the morning and sings into her mirror and yells out her bedroom window in the middle of the night because her best friend lives across the way – that's how they talk, you see – and talks, talks, talks …"

He trailed off, going red. "She's mad."

"I can't say my sister is ever like that," Lilandra replied, and it wasn't a lie. The day Kerryna ever danced around in her underclothes would be the day Lilandra grew a third arm. "And you're telling me you've never romped in your skivvies when no one's around?"

Cace laughed out loud. "No, I can't say I ever have! Why would the thought even cross your mind?"

"Don't know," Lilandra said demurely, also grinning. "I wanted to see your reaction, I guess."

"Do you and your friends often dance half-naked?"

"No, but it wouldn't surprise me if Anakin and Dave decided to stage a peep show one of these days. You know, for kicks."

She had him laughing frequently now; this was a good sign. Cace himself had noticed that Lilandra was looking markedly more relaxed around him now, and he found himself falling under a sort of spell of fascination with her and her strange humor, as though they'd been friends for years and only now was he beginning to even take note of her gender, let alone her fine features and the almost gravitational effect she had on him.

It was for that reason that, when she took a seat on a log near the front, before the wooden podium from which Jiromie would be speaking, he sat beside her, perhaps closer than was absolutely necessary, but was encouraged when she responded by inching her hips closer to his as well until they were almost touching. 

Anakin, naturally, noticed this proximity, and seized the opportunity to sit behind them, where he tortured Lilandra by pulling on her hair and blowing cold air on the back of her neck until Tara joined them and pinned his hands to the log with her own. If Cace noticed, he didn't show it. 

It wasn't long before the logs began filling up with people, their silvery faces shining in the firelight alongside them. Some of them craned their necks to see the guests of honor, who were feeling very filled with anticipation indeed – this was, it seemed, going to be what they had come all this way for.

When Jiromie appeared at the podium, looking awkward but confident, his unusual eyes alight with an air of secrecy and mysticism, Lilandra felt her pulse beating between her shoulders, certain and definite and excited. 

Without thinking – _definitely_ without thinking – she reached for Cace's hand, but was only mildly surprised when he squeezed it back. She smiled into the alternating flickers of dark and light, the lanterns and Cace's dry palm pressed to hers filling her with comfort and reassurance, the expression on Jiromie's face as he surveyed the crowd breeding anxiety and anticipation.

The fire was warm on her back, and, letting her eyes drift happily closed, she had the sudden feeling that perhaps it wasn't entirely a mistake that they had come here and decided to stay.

  



	16. The Holding Land

~16~

The Holding Land

  


"My friends," Jiromie began, and it was impossible to fail to notice the significant way in which he spread his hands in the universal invitation for peace. This was a man who knew of the galaxy. 

"We have visitors among us from the outside galaxy, the first we have ever welcomed to Whilldri," he continued.

"What did they do with the others, burn them at the stake?" Anakin murmured from behind Lilandra. She giggled softly, while Cace gave him a puzzled glance over his shoulder.

"It seems only fair to tell them the story of who we are, and how we came to be." Jiromie was looking right at the space where Lilandra, Cace, Anakin, and Tara were sitting, looking sheepish and excited all at the same time. "No filling in the blanks, Lendene," he addressed Cace, and the crowd tittered. 

"The story begins centuries ago, before any of us was born, except perhaps for Verina – " Here he paused for comedic effect, while chuckles rippled through the gathering again, " – and it begins with a race of gentle people who were possessed of a strange and terrific power: the ability to see the future, to prophesize about events that came to truth even centuries later. Not only that, but their gift of foresight allowed them to explore the expanded capacities of their own minds, and they realized that their talents extended to not just seeing, but being able to move things, construct and deconstruct them, all with the power of mere mental suggestion. 

"They documented the exploration of their minds in a collective diary, along with their prophesies, and it became the central tenet of a religion they founded based on the assumption that they had been granted their miraculous powers by some sort of almighty deity, whom they later came to refer to as Wele, the spiritual embodiment of the human will. They called themselves the Wills, W-I-L-L-S, because their entire existence seemed based on the power of the will: the will to move things, the will to foresee and understand the implications of the past, present, and future existing as one boundless circle of time, and the will to understand their own minds and the minds of others – the modern Jedi practice of thought interpretation and spiritual healing. The Journal became their bible, of sorts, and around this, they constructed their civilization."

Jiromie paused to allow this introduction to sink in before he continued:

"The Wills built their cities and homes and farms on the fertile terrain of a world called Raltonen, and their society flourished. They constructed temples, made pilgrimages to the far corners of their world to pray and reflect, though theirs was anything but a conventional religion. Their society was the only one in history that could be considered completely free. There was no government, as they established their laws through the things they foresaw. They reported prophetic dreams to a central elder, who was known as the Keeper of The Journal, and whose role was not to act as a dictator, but as more of a figurehead. 

"If someone foresaw a famine, the Keeper would order more food grown, less food gratuitously consumed. If someone foresaw an epidemic, the Keeper would designate quarantine for the sick and, based on the nature of the illness prophesied, adjust health regulations accordingly to prevent its spread. It was as though they thrived on the power of suggestion alone, and so their world became a populous one. 

"As years went by, the Wills began to branch out from Raltonen. The emergence of space technology had made it possible to travel to other planets, where many settled and began their own factions of the Will religion, always in keeping with the Journal, but under different names, different methods of teaching. One of the first of these factions was the Massassi, the race of people native to Yavin 4, the world from which our friends have come."

Lilandra found herself smiling in spite of herself. So _that_ was who the Massassi had been, mysterious race that they were.

"The Massassi favored tangible worship, and so constructed temples appealing to the various capacities of Wele – its generosity, its healing, its power, and its love. These, they believed, would keep them safe, and would protect the small community they'd established. No one knows what happened to the Massassi, but they only existed for a few centuries. Some say they tired of Yavin 4, and ventured into the galaxy to form independent communities on other worlds. Others say they were wiped out by the marauding planetary explorers who swept through the galaxy at the end of the last century and populated the worlds they conquered as they saw fit. Whatever the case, we know that they never completely died out, because the proof of their legacy is sitting right in front of me: the modern-day Jedi of the world of Yavin 4."

There was some shuffling of feet and clothing as the entire population of Whilldri turned or craned to see the seven missionaries. Cace quickly released Lilandra's hand, cupping his own palms nervously over his knees. Lilandra smiled down at her feet.

"The Wills who stayed on Raltonen continued to flourish, existing in their free society, far removed from the tyranny of the emerging governments in the galaxy beyond. They worshiped not material possession, but the gifts of the mind, and held no store by physical domination: fated love was considered divine, and sexual satisfaction only achieved therein. 

"There were none of the designations and restrictions that we have imposed here on Terapinn – these are simply a means of ensuring our survival. The Raltonen Wills knew what was required of them for their survival, and each pursued their own interest or area of particular expertise. The beauty of freedom is that because it was given so willingly and so unflinchingly to them, the Wills knew better than to abuse it, and so they behaved, and so they lived. 

"In the increasingly turbulent atmosphere of the galaxy beyond, their religion was viewed as both ingenious and ludicrous, but the Wills were secure in their faith, and that is the way they continued, through the ages, to the birth of the fair but uncertain Old Republic, when the modern star charts and galactic archives were first compiled. In them, the world of Raltonen is registered as a little inner-core planet called Wayland – you may have heard of it."

Luke and Lilandra exchanged an amazed glance, and Mara nudged her husband, grimacing.

"During those final years, one of the city women gave birth to a son, and he was to be the new Keeper when the current, female Keeper passed on. His name was Caus, and right away, the Wills could tell that he was different from any child that had ever passed through their society. He was persuasive and charismatic in childhood – definite, stolid, and determined. Everyone thought he had the makings of a revolutionary Keeper. 

"But in his adolescence, he developed an interest in galactic politics. He became controlling, supercilious, and dangerously violent. Whatever was created, he would be tempted to destroy. He was abusive. No one could understand how such a child could have been born of such a gentle, popular, and hard-working woman as we knew his mother to be. We didn't realize quite the extent of his internal turmoil, though he left Raltonen as a young man to pursue a grander political career. He wasn't the first. We hoped he would change. He didn't. 

"He was the boy who became the man called Caus Palpatine, and while we didn't understand how one individual could have so much anger contained within him, we would certainly come to feel it. The day Caus Palpatine declared himself Emperor over all the galaxy was the day the Keeper had a terrible nightmare. 

"She foresaw us scattered on the breeze, like so many delicate seeds, some to be murdered by nightbirds and wolves, some to live half-lives in seclusion and fear in the shadows of mountains. She awoke with the injustice of persecution pounding in her head, and she did not understand. It was too new. So she didn't report the dream to the people. She buried it deep in her subconscious, and though it was out of her mind, guilt and remorse plagued her. 

"She never forgave herself for being so faithfully reserved, because it wasn't long before Caus Palpatine turned his rage on us, the people of his childhood, and we were completely unprepared."

A chilled silence descended on the crowd, broken only by the snapping and hissing of the bonfire and the melancholy sighing of the breeze in the trees as everyone tried to picture the sullen little boy who would eventually destroy their lives. What had he looked like then? The same handsome dark hair and eyes? The same silver skin?

Lilandra risked a glance at Cace, who was staring down at his feet. Somehow, their hands had joined again, though noncommittally. Cace's mind wasn't on flirting. He was thinking wistfully, perhaps, of a time when he would've been truly free, not just theoretically free. Free to have a profession of his choice and a girlfriend and babies and the opportunity to joke about life's little intricacies. Free to be holding her hand, even when he knew he probably shouldn't. 

"Perhaps half a decade after the Keeper's dream – long enough that she had put it far from her mind," Jiromie said, his voice now deeper, more sinister, "Palpatine's forces attacked.

"They did not kill at first. First, they chased us from Raltonen, scattering us throughout the galaxy, only to round us up later as prisoners. The majority of us spent two months on Yavin 4, long evacuated by the Rebel Alliance, which at that time during the war was unstoppably gaining support and ground."

Some feet away, Luke and Mara exchanged an admiring glance between themselves, Luke chewing his lip thoughtfully but smiling.

"We camped in the jungle, in the shelter of its temples, praying harder than we'd ever prayed in our lives, but it was fruitless. Palpatine was as a predator who knows that he is stronger than his prey but wishes to indulge in the thrill of the chase. 

"He spent the next two months searching for the perfect place to chase us to – a place so remote that there would be no hope for our return to the galactic core, and hopefully so barren that, stripped of our once advanced technology, there was a chance we would not even survive the first winter. The planet he picked was this one, for its location, obviously, and its obscurity – our world is not registered in any known documentation of our galaxy. He called it _Ter'rapin'n_, which in our language means 'holding land', from _terra_, the almost universal word for solid ground, and _pin'n_, which can also mean 'trapped'. In the common spelling, though, we usually drop the second 'r', since it is a silent syllable."

Lilandra looked sidelong at Cace again. His lips were parted slightly in a smile that practically mirrored Lilandra's own. Jiromie noticed their faces, and smiled himself. 

"Our language is second-nature to all of us, of course, but we have to remember that there are strangers in our midst," he said. "The language of the Whills has no name, because it borrows marginally from so many other languages. It is based entirely on Basic syllables, utilizing the same sounds produced by Basic consonants and vowels, except in special cases. Each syllable consists of a consonant followed by a vowel, and each one makes up a new character of our language."

"Is that why it has been so easy for you to learn Basic?" Luke asked.

"Partly," Jiromie said. "And partly because our years of interaction with the outside galaxy while we were living on Raltonen demanded a keen knowledge of the most common galactic dialect. But I'm getting sidetracked."

He smiled bashfully. "Cace – I'll leave it up to you to tell our guests more about the language, if they so desire."

"Couldn't take all the glory, eh?" Cace teased back.

Jiromie tapped his finger against the side of his head. "The old brain doesn't work as well as it used to."

He paused for a moment, letting the darkness resettle the solemn mood of the point at which he recommenced the story of the Whills.

"After two months came and went, we had been lulled into a false sense of security, so that when Palpatine's lackeys caught up with us again on Yavin 4, we were completely defenseless. There was nothing to do but run, but of course, there never was anywhere to run. Those who resisted were killed, and those who surrendered were rounded up again, thrown together, and transported here on slave ships. 

"The journey took two months, and everybody was sick. Hundreds among our number perished from illness only heightened by loneliness and misery and starvation and the unfamiliarity of the torture that had been dealt them."

Jiromie sighed, leaning forward on his wooden podium with his chin cupped in his hand, and Lilandra was immediately, inexplicably, reminded of Kerryna. 

"This story has a happy enough ending, I suppose," Jiromie continued, tilting his head to the side. "Miraculously, through everything, our Keeper remained with us. Her name was Verina, and together with her son, Janck, his wife, Emmerry, and their son – that's me – they kept the remaining Wills as safe as they knew how until we were deposited here, on Terapinn. Then, the two hundred or so of us that had survived began the difficult task of rebuilding just a fraction of what we had had on Raltonen. 

"From felled trees and broken rocks and barren soil we created the village you see around you. We began to call ourselves 'the Wills of the Hills', a mild amusement to keep our minds from the gravity of our situation, which eventually evolved into the term you are all familiar with today: the Whills. It came to seem as though we had come here of our own volition, and so could leave just as easily, but that proved to be a naïve assumption. 

"Palpatine may have been mad, but he was thorough, and he took his precautions to ensure that neither us nor our 'crazy' religion was heard from again. He had already conducted a number of purges of Jedi children, rounding up the descendents that had resulted from the Massassi marrying into the families of humans and non-humans alike, and those who had been taught to use the powers dormant in their own minds by Massassi instructors."

A familiar, latent anxiety stirred in Lilandra's stomach. She had been among those children, orphaned at three years old, mercifully left alive but deposited with and adopted by a Jedi-fearing family of Imperial affiliation. They taught her to fight with words rather than her powers, which she was forbidden to use, and that peace came from without rather than within, and all the orderly things that had attracted Lilandra to politics.

"We were the last step on the road to an almost Jedi-free galaxy, just the way Palpatine wanted it. He lived just long enough to have us disposed of. Barely six months later, he was assassinated, and our visitors could tell you the rest of the galaxy's story better than I."

Luke grinned. "It's long and terribly complicated. We'd much rather you carried on, Jiromie."

There was some chuckling, and Jiromie grinned, "Have it your way."

He picked up the story with: "We never heard the news of Palpatine's death firsthand. But a feeling settled over all of us like that of a great pressure relieved in some way, and heightened in another.

"We would have left as soon as we felt the release of his physical presence… but it was not that simple. One of the principle beliefs of the Wills is that, when you die, your spirit returns to stay with your people, to guard them. Of course, Caus Palpatine had been born a Will. It is irreversible; we could not leave, even if we tried."

"What would happen if you did?" Lilandra asked hesitantly.

There was an uncertain pause as there was some shifting in seats and adjusting of garments.

"We don't know for sure, because we've never once left the soil of Terapinn in the twenty years we've been here, but there have been people who have tried to simply leave the village, to explore the rest of Terapinn, to find resources to turn to when comes the day that the population of Whilldri reaches this valley's maximum sustainability, but … they never made it. They were never heard from again. We lost mental contact with them, and their bodies were never found. We let that stand as a warning to anyone who dares step beyond the boundaries set for us by the spirit of Caus."

Jiromie ended the story there, and for a moment, there was silence, during which Lilandra glanced sidelong at Cace again. His face was troubled, his eyes haunted, but Lilandra didn't ask any questions of him. The past twenty years had evidently not been easy ones for him, this child of an archaic religion in danger of dying out. 

All of a sudden, Lilandra was filled with compassion for him, and without really understanding the meaning of the gesture, released his hand and placed her palm on his shoulder. He looked up at her – gratefully? With surprise? Tenderness? – and smiled halfheartedly.

"Good story, that," he murmured.

"Very good," Lilandra agreed, just as quietly. They sat in silence for a long time, thinking, while around them, the Whills rose in groups of two and three and four, and drifted back to the fire to warm the chill from their bones. 


	17. Lilandra and Cace

After the somber mood of the storytelling had been broken, it was time for the Whills to show their guests how they had fun. For, as Cace explained to Lilandra, music and dancing were the ways the Whills chose to honor their past struggles, rather than dwell on them. 

"Resentment is a restraint; the Whills are a people who worship the possibilities of the future," he said to her, his smile bringing one of equal optimism to Lilandra's lips. 

They were walking, shoulder to shoulder, back to the place where the long table had been, and where now there was a large area of open ground. 

Cace had broken his reverie, but still seemed appreciative of Lilandra's attention. So they talked, mostly about the Whills and their remarkable tale until Cace turned the subject to the outer galaxy.

"What of you, of your society? It just occurred to me that I know next to nothing about your life, Senator."

Lilandra flicked a shock of hair over her shoulder and looked sidelong at him. "The outside galaxy is … one of great turmoil at the moment, to say the least. I don't suppose you have any knowledge of political systems?"

"I'd be willing to learn," Cace shrugged.

"Fair enough," Lilandra grinned, all too pleased to impart upon him her knowledge of her area of specialty.

"Our current government is a democracy, which means the general population has a say in choosing their leaders and laws, through elections and votes and referendums and such. The Imperial regime was an *_auto*_cracy - meaning the government was self-contained. They appointed their own rulers and laws, and no elections or referendums were held. The Empire had complete power over its domain."

Cace nodded slowly. "So when Palpatine died …"

"It signified the end of the Empire in its present form, but not entirely, as we retained some Imperial traditions and simply integrated them into the trappings of a Republic, such as the Senate – that's where I come in," Lilandra explained. "I'm a senator, appointed by the people of my planet of citizenship and the Chief of State to govern that particular sector. Any bills or laws that are proposed by the Planetary Legislature come to me. Once a month, the Galactic Senate meets at Coruscant – that's the planet in the very center of the galaxy – and reviews all the proposed bills. We debate, and vote, and once the Senate has reached a consensus on something, the bill goes to the Chief of State, who is in charge of every planet in the galaxy, and she …"

She forced herself to trail off, noticing that Cace was regarding her with something of a pained expression.

"But then again, you know nothing at a_ll_ of the outside galaxy," she murmured apologetically. "I'm sorry, I keep forgetting."

"That's alright," he said, turning his eyes to his feet. "It sounds … *_big*._"

"It is," she agreed. "Big, and unmanageable at times. I look around at your society, see how *_orderly*_ everything is, and I'm jealous, in a way."

Cace was silent for a moment, considering that with a pleased look.

"Your planet …what's it called?" 

"It's actually not too far from here," Lilandra replied, only just realizing that her home was a short hyperspace hop through Imperial territory from Terapinn. "It's called Chad."

"That seems like a good place to start in the galaxy, then," Cace said, smiling cautiously. "What's it like?"

Lilandra looked at him again, surprised. He seemed to be asking her to teach him, in a sense, something about the galaxy as well as herself. Even more surprising was the fact that she was glad for the opportunity. 

"It's covered almost entirely by water," she began. "Salt water. Oceans. There is one continent near the equator, Yfar, and most communities spread outward from there. The land is mostly grassland dotted with forests, and there is one city, Glitterglass. I work there sometimes, when I'm not on Coruscant. My home is on the water, though, in a floating fishing village called Glimmer."

"Your house floats?" 

This seemed almost beyond Cace's comprehension.

"Yeah, kind of," Lilandra grinned. "Glimmer is built on a sandy reef at the entrance to a large lagoon off the mainland. The foundations of the buildings are anchored to the ocean floor and connected by floating docks and bridges, and until you see how shallow the water actually is below the village, it does seem a little impossible. Can you picture it?" she asked.

"I'm trying," Cace replied, his eyebrows coming together. "I just thought of something. What did you say the continent was called again?"

"Yfar," Lilandra said immediately, curious.

"You know, 'Yfar' is our word for fire," Cace told her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Coincidence?"

"I don't know," Lilandra shrugged. "Chad didn't just come by its Jedi naturally. They had to settle there first, didn't they?"

She paused. "It's amazing – everything sort of moves outward from the people you used to be," she added.

"Maybe Yfar was the first Jedi settlers' idea of a joke," Cace grinned. "You know … fire and water."

Lilandra considered this, marveling at how even though Cace had never been to her planet, or any planet for that matter, he was already showing her new ways of looking at the things she had begun, without realizing it, to take for granted. 

  


As they were talking, Ilsa Lendene, Jiromie, and a few others left the gathering, but returned in a few moments carrying musical instruments of some sort. Jiromie held in his hands a large drum, a tightly banded barrel with a thick yellowish skin stretched over its top.

Ilsa carried a wooden, box-shaped instrument with seven fitted strings, and the two others held pipes and flutes of various sizes that appeared to be hollowed out of the same flexible, tawny stems.

The dinner table had been pushed to one side of the open ground on the opposite side of the path from the village, and by way of the lanterns in the trees, and the reflection of the moon in the water hundreds of feet below them, it had been transformed into a stunningly lit outdoor dance floor. 

Cace and Lilandra seated themselves at the table, facing the floor and watching the musicians prepare. 

Ilsa exchanged her stringed box with another tall, reed-like woman for the longest flute, and began conversing with Jiromie in their rapid language. He grinned at her and ruffled her hair.

"Musicians aren't designated," Cace informed Lilandra. "Ilsa plays flute for hobby, and she's very good. Jiromie often jokes that when she plays, she holds in her hands the most powerful weapon: the means to move people."

"That's beautiful," Lilandra grinned. 

"We have one of these dances almost every week. There's always something to celebrate – a marriage, the birth and designation of a new child, even a funeral wake, or just another day successfully lived. It's what has kept us going these past twenty years."

"I like that – celebrating life because of how lucky you are to have it," Lilandra said. "The only one who dances around the academy is Mara. She used to be a professional, you know."

"She has the stature for it," Cace noted, angling his head towards the fire where Mara was stretching the long sit from her bones, the fabric of her robe pulling tight across her flat stomach. "How does she dance?"

"Infrequently," Lilandra said, and Cace chuckled. 

As they watched, Jiromie signaled his band, and on a swift four-count, began to beat on his drum with the flats of his fingers in a syncopated double rhythm. The other players followed his cue, and added their own unique instruments to the beat one by one. There was something improvised about the individual melodies they turned out, but the different sounds all seemed to meet together in the middle in an energetic, consonant blend that lifted the corners of Lilandra's mouth as if by magic. 

The Whills had begun to dance, in pairs or in groups, with no particular structure. A young mother had taken her young daughter by her tiny fists and was spinning around and around with her, the child shrieking with laughter, their nimble feet flying in the dirt. A couple were practicing a complicated two-step and having a time of it, clutching each other and laughing when their feet tangled. Silver bands winked noticeably on the fingers of their intertwined hands.

Even the mission crew was getting into it. Jaina and Dave were simply skipping around the edge of the dance floor, hand in hand like two young children. Neither one was possessed of any sort of rhythm, but the expressions on their faces belied a humbling joy that had not been demonstrated by either of them in the past four months at the academy. Tara resisted Anakin's amorous advances for as long as she humanly could, but when he actually got down on his knees and batted his reflective blue eyes at her, she folded, and allowed him to take her in his arms and spin her around the floor a couple of times.

Luke and Mara declined to dance, but they seemed happy, sitting a little way down the bench from Lilandra and Cace with their foreheads pressed together, talking quietly. Seeing them made Lilandra's stomach sink with a sudden pang of regret, and just a little jealousy.

"You're going to dance with me, right?" Cace teased her, lightly poking her shoulder. 

Glad for the distraction, and the invitation, and the opportunity, Lilandra nodded and beamed and let him pull her onto the dance floor.

"He doesn't mind, right?" Cace murmured to her, gesturing towards Luke.

"Why should he?" Lilandra laughed, shrugging off her heavy cloak and tossing it onto the bench.

"Just asking," Cace said, and took her by the hand. "Ready?"

"Absolutely."

"Just follow my lead," he said, and suddenly, the music changed, picking up in tempo as Cace abruptly jerked her around and grabbed her other hand, crossing his wrists and leaning back. They spun in a wide, dipping circle, faster and faster, to the pounding rhythm of Jiromie's drum, and for some reason, Lilandra couldn't stop laughing. She felt like a child again, just zooming round and round, gripping Cace's hands for dear life, and just when she thought her feet were catching up with her whirling thoughts, the music changed again.

No less fast, the flute was suddenly present above all the other instruments, repeatedly playing a melodic phrase that reminded Lilandra of the birds they had seen wheeling through the sky. Cace released her hands and then grabbed them again, this time without the cross, and brought them up over his head, turning her so that they were back to back, but only for a moment, as he arched himself backwards and swooped underneath their raised elbows so that they were facing again. 

He laughed when he saw the look on her face as he spun her easily out of the tangle of their arms, and whirled her off, galloping around a the edge of a circle that Lilandra realized, with acute embarrassment, the Whills had formed around them. 

"Come on, don't be shy," he urged her breathlessly, and she smiled in spite of herself, snatching the hem of her robe and pulling it up to her knees to free them. "Ready? Here we go …"

He pulled her artfully to the center of the circle and grabbed her right hand, flinging it up above their heads, and she spun around and around, bending from the knee to keep up her momentum, a trick she remembered from long-ago dance lessons.

The surroundings whirled in Lilandra's vision, and she became only vaguely aware of the Whills watching them … clapping to the beat and cheering them on as Cace held her fingers and watched as her feet barely skimmed the dust.

She wanted the moment to last forever, just flying round and round at Cace's hand, his other arm circling her waist, her feet hardly touching the ground, the firelight glowing behind her eyes, the lanterns winking their encouragement in the trees, everything colored miraculous shades of rich green and velvet blue and brilliant orange and white, white, white.

She could have danced for hours like this and not felt a thing, if only Cace would keep his eyes on her as he was, his hands appraising on her back and her waist and her shoulders, but the song was over all too soon, and, dizzied, she fell forward into his arms, panting and giggling. 

He caught her by the arms, and they held each other that way for a moment while they caught their breath and brushed their damp hair off their faces, watching each other all the while. On the sidelines, there was a smattering of applause, and more than a little snickering from the Yavin corner.

"You're really good!" Lilandra gasped, strolling back to the bench and flopping gratefully onto it. 

"Why, thank you," Cace said, looking proud before dropping his voice to a dramatic, mocking bass and murmuring, "I live to please."

Lilandra grinned, "Such a generous man," and poked her tongue out at him.

"Don't do that unless you want to share," Cace warned her, and she smirked. 

"Oh, I couldn't contest your brand of munificence," she teased.

"I'm so openhanded, I'll even let you have the last word," he teased back, and stood, stretching. "Oh, and you weren't so bad yourself," he added, winking. 

The next song had started, this time a slower, more heartfelt piece that called upon the magic of the flute to lend it its emotional breadth. True to Cace's word, Ilsa was fantastically talented. The moment she blew the crystal notes into the breeze, the entire scene seemed to still for a moment, frozen in a drop of pure sound.

Jaina and Dave had slipped their arms around each other, and were gliding around the floor, lost in the bliss of coupledom, while Anakin swept Tara gallantly into his arms and plastered her face and neck with kisses in a showy but adorable display of affection. This time, even Luke and Mara danced, still retaining that dear perfection of impossible closeness that only they were capable of as they swayed almost imperceptibly in the center of the floor. 

"Fancy another go?" Cace asked Lilandra. "You know that once you've had a taste of the master, you'll always come back for more."

"I think I'll sit this one out," Lilandra demurred, _faux naïf_, and though Cace seemed surprised, he winked at her again before approaching another young woman, a native Whill with short chestnut hair and dark, twinkling eyes. 

Watching them, Lilandra realized that the two were evidently good friends, perhaps even potential or past lovers, though she was cool in his embrace and they did not speak. Still, Cace was a perfect gentleman, holding one of the girl's hands in his own as he led her in a slow glide, his other palm resting easily on the small of her graceful back. 

Lilandra mentally slapped herself for denying Cace his dance. Had she accepted, that might've been _her _laying her head upon his shoulder, feeling his stomach pressed to hers. Willingly playing the part of the couple in love. 

Once again, she was on the sidelines, watching her friends and their lovers, their husbands and wives circling slowly in a space and time separate from the physical world. Theirs was the promise of forever, of infinity, impossible though they knew it was. The ways in which they held each other dictated the mysterious laws of love, not the how and when but the who and what and why and yes, insulated for the time being in an unbreakable realm of both never and always at the same time. 

By the time the dance ended, Lilandra was feeling distinctly downhearted, sitting alone with her head in her hands and her heart heavy with envy. As the music drew to a close, it was beautifully clear the way in which the intimacy of the dance had seemed to seal the fate of all the couples. From the expressions on their faces, dewy and smitten and falling in love all over again, it was obvious that within that span of five otherwise insignificant minutes, they had renewed their promises and their confidences and their devotions without saying a single word, and they were happy. 

It was miraculous. 

It made Lilandra feel betrayed. 

Perhaps Cace had noticed the way she scowled at the floor, and perhaps it had abolished that reservation within him that had caused him to release her hand during the story, or perhaps he just felt sorry for her, but whatever it was, he came immediately back to her side when the dance had finished, and put his hand on her shoulder. 

"Lilandra."

A shiver raced up her spine; it was the first time he'd used her name, instead of casually calling her 'Senator'. To hear him say it was both an embarrassment and a comfort, and it made her squirm because she could feel him looking at her. 

"Yes?"

"I'd like to show you something, if I may."

The music had resumed playing, and everyone was dancing again, at an upbeat tempo this time, with renewed vigor and faith. The young married couple was showing Jaina and Tara the same two-step they had danced before, while Anakin and Dave had retreated to the table to drink thirstily from cups of water. Luke and Mara had gone back to talking. No one would notice if they left. 

"Alright," Lilandra consented reluctantly, pressing her lips together. 

"Come with me," Cace said, and helped her to her feet. She grabbed her cloak, throwing it over her shoulders, and together, they slipped from the loud, light, happy scene and into the shadows of the path, beyond the watchful eyes of the lanterns. 

Instead of heading back into the village in the direction of the _Jadesaber_, he led her in the opposite direction, around the lip of the escarpment and onto the rocky, treed part of the canyon rim. The wind was much more fierce there, moaning through the canyon below, and whipped the hem of Lilandra's scratchy cloak against her bare ankles, but she wasn't nervous or frightened, as she should've been, going for a lightless walk with a man she hardly knew. Cace held her hand tightly in his own, his palm warm on her suddenly freezing fingers. 

"You're cold," he commented.

"Yes," she replied, swiftly losing sight of the point of anything but this moment in time. 

"Yfar. Think of the scent of fire," he suggested. It was a ridiculous proposal, but Lilandra felt her heartbeat speed up a bit. Pausing a moment on the path, Cace reached into the pocket of his pants, and produced something in the palm of his hand.

Peering curiously at it, she realized that it was a cigarra lighter – an older model, plated with silver and engraved with the graceful symbols of a language she didn't recognize.

Smiling softly, Cace flicked at it, and a small flame leaped from its top, the tangy scent of combustion swirling around Lilandra's head and warming her to the tips of her toes.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, sounding astonished. Such decadent utilities were rare even in the hallways of the Palace nowadays – lighters were vestiges of a wasteful empire. 

"I don't suppose you wondered at all today how some of our people came to possess old Imperial relics, like bits of uniforms and the lanterns you see in the trees?"

"It did cross my mind," she admitted, "when I saw you wearing a soldier's pants this morning."

Cace nodded, a silent credit to her observance. "The part of the story that Jiromie never mentions is that, when we sought refuge on Yavin and were attacked again, we actually fought back. Palpatine sent an entire army to dispose of us, and yet we killed several hundred of their number before we were taken. We lost hundreds of our own, as well, but those who did not fight, fled, and along the way they stole. They stole clothing, and rations, and weapons, and anything they could get their hands on. This is never spoken of here, because it is an embarrassment."

"Why? You did it for survival," Lilandra reasoned.

"We stole from the dead, and we have always had tremendous respect for the dead. Even though we did it out of necessity, it was like breaking with our beliefs," he explained.

Lilandra waited, sensing that he had more to say. 

"I was just a boy when we were attacked. Three years old. This was years before Ilsa's birth. Jiromie was only in his twenties, and our respective families were very close. When my parents went to battle, Jiromie took me and fled. He would kill and steal as he went, keeping me protected all the while, and we amassed a wonderful collection of things before his grandmother announced our surrender and we were both captured and taken aboard Palpatine's transport ship. I was reunited with my parents there, who had both survived, by some miracle of the maker. Ever since then, Jiromie has been my teacher, and my guardian. He is an incredibly brave man, you know."

"He sounds wonderful," Lilandra agreed. "He gave you the lighter?"

"He stole it from a soldier who had been trying to flee. The wretched boy was just eighteen, and he had been forced into the troops against his will. Already, he had been wounded by one of our fellows, and he begged and pleaded with Jiromie to show him mercy and dispose of him. Jiromie refused, knowing that the boy would die in time anyway, but stayed with him until he did, giving him water, telling him stories, blessed him when he finally lapsed into unconsciousness. He considers the lighter to be more of a gift, a memory of that poor boy's spirit. Since then, I've been fascinated with the scent of fire."

"Why?" asked Lilandra. "Wouldn't it remind you of the horror of that day?"

"It does that," Cace conceded, "but in the same way, it gives me hope for the rest of humanity. The human race can't be that bad if it can still produce a child who is hesitant to kill, even in a situation where his very life depends on it."

"In the military, they call them cowards," Lilandra sighed bitterly. "Which goes to show you how skewed human logic can be sometimes."

Cace nodded. "All I know is that that soldier could have killed me with his bare hands if he chose to do so, but he didn't. He showed Jiromie a kindness by sparing my life, and Jiromie showed him a kindness by respecting his honor as a man."

Lilandra thought for a moment. "The history books tell us that Palpatine outfitted all his soldiers with lighters. To him – "

"Fire represented passion, and the scent was its essence. It was supposed to lend the bearer courage, strength, loyalty, and desire," Cace filled in for her. "I know. That is one of the only Imperial philosophies that Palpatine derived from the Journal. The Wills were elemental people, and held great store by the power of nature. The writings on the various capacities of the four elements are some of my favorites of the Journal. I like symbolism."

Lilandra nodded soberly. She had not been aware that fire was apparently a source of comfort for Cace, as well as something of an aphrodisiac. Knowing this was revealing. She mouthed the word 'yfar', tasting it, hearing the hiss and spark of a match behind the whispering syllables.

The flame went out; they kept walking. 

The trampled gravel of the path gave way to the cracked, jagged stone of the escarpment's edge. Here and there, boulders jutted out from the loamy earth – it was dark; the trees here were thicker, and blocked out the moonlight. Ahead of them, there was a stand of low shrubs that spilled over the edge of a steep slope and down into the river basin below. An extension of the path they traversed disappeared over this ridge as well. As Lilandra peered over the edge, she could see the gleam of moonlight on rippling water. 

Cace helped her over the embankment, and onto the rough, one-person continuation of the path that zigzagged down the steep, muddy face of the slope. 

"Where are we going?" Lilandra asked, her sandals slipping on the damp piles of fallen and rotting leaves that littered the path and feeling the first glimmers of uncertainty.

"You'll see," Cace said.

Lilandra was truly mystified, but didn't ask any more. She trusted him.

They reached the bottom of the slope, and found themselves faced with a tall, immovable wall of hedges. Down in the valley, the eternal mist was much thicker, and the tear-shaped green leaves of the bushes were coated with dew. Lilandra was about to protest, but then Cace drew aside the leaves as though they were a curtain, and revealed a sight that made her heart pound with excited disbelief.

She found herself staring at an exact copy of the Temple of the Galaxy on Yavin. 

The same small, sand-colored stone exterior with its sloping pyramidal sides, the arching doorway through which she passed onto a stone ledge that wound its way around a cavernous room … it was identical. Contained in the middle was a shining, smooth pool, and the walls were covered with the intricate, whimsical details of what she now identified to be the life of the Wills on Raltonen. 

Her mouth fell open. "_Impossible_."

Cace smiled with quiet pride and satisfaction. "The Massassi preferred tangible worship, remember? We learned from their example during our two-month stay on Yavin 4. We spent that time unlocking the secrets of their temples and their shrines … so that we might carry them with us wherever we went." "Cace!" Lilandra exclaimed, hopping up and down upon her heels. "This is unbelievable!"

"What's so unbelievable about religious devotion? Faith is boundless, even in the physical world. Where there's a Whill, there's a way, as Jiromie is always joking."

Lilandra laughed, out of complete surprise and amazement. "Praise the Massassi," she breathed. "I had no idea."

"So, you're familiar with the _Te'am Galatsia_?" Cace queried, delighting in her delight. 

Lilandra paused. "The _Te'am Galatsia_," she repeated wonderingly.

Cace nodded. "The Galaxy Temple. What do you call it?"

"The Temple of the Galaxy – same thing, really. But I'd read _Te'am Galatsia _in a book, and wondered what language it was …"

Cace shrugged. "_Te am_ can also mean 'to love'. Isn't that what a temple is for, after all?"

Lilandra smiled dreamily. "To love the galaxy," she murmured, and flushed when she felt Cace looking at her.

He gestured towards the lake, an invitation.

Lilandra nodded eagerly, and tossed her cloak into a corner, anxious to see the incredible reproduction of the galaxy again, to compare it to the one on Yavin.

"Come," Cace said, and took her hand. She felt a shiver of desire course through her at the touch of his skin, at his suggestive tone. The sweeping silence that followed resonated around her, and she turned to him, a little bewildered. But he only nodded, cocking his head to the side to examine her from a different angle. 

Together, they stood on the ledge, and then, without warning, Cace jumped into the smooth waters, pulling Lilandra down with him.

She panicked for a moment, tangled in her robe, unable to breathe or kick or move, but Cace was already dragging her to the surface. Her head and shoulders broke free of the endlessly deep water, and she took large gulps of air, reeling with confusion.

"Are you alright?" Cace asked. 

She nodded, her breathing slowly returning to normal. "You just surprised me, that's all. I wasn't ready."

"Are you ready now?" 

He sounded so impatient that Lilandra laughed.

"Yeah … yes," she said breathlessly. There was a pause, during which Lilandra attempted to grasp at the focus of the conversation on the whole. "Hang on. Ask me again?"

"Are you ready?" he asked, bringing her hand to the surface and twining his fingers in hers. 

This time, she was sure. "Whenever you are."

"On three, then," he said. "One."

"Two," Lilandra added.

"*_Three*_!" they both yelled together, and ducked beneath the water.

Lilandra opened her eyes, feeling the same rush of exhilaration as she had the first time she and Luke had seen the galaxy lake. 

As before, the galaxy lay mapped out all around her, stars bursting forth, spinning away in shades of glorious white, pink, royal blue, orange, yellow, and violent purple. 

_ There are uses for this map you probably haven't even dreamed of yet,_ Cace said, going inside her mind. He sounded … proud, yet sheepish. 

_ So am I correct in assuming that it's not just an aesthetic form of worship? _Lilandra asked him.

_ What do you take us Whills for?_ Cace teased her. _We have an impossible number of tricks up our sleeves. It's just a matter of believing in the power of your own suggestion. _

_ Find Yavin IV, _he instructed her.

Drifting among the glowing pinprick stars, Lilandra sought the giant orange star of Yavin, and, successful, pointed out the fourth jungle moon – the home of the Jedi Academy. 

_ Wherever there have been Wills, there have been temples like these, _Cace said. _We didn't truly know the power they possessed until we realized that when two such temples are constructed, they form a tangible link. We don't know how, we don't know why, but we believe that it was the Massassi peoples' way of ensuring that no matter where they ended up, they would have a means of contacting 'home' in times of peril or sorrow. _

He raised his hand to the moon of Yavin 4, cupping his palm gently around it.

As Lilandra watched, the area around the dot began to swirl in a circle, scattering the surrounding stars across the map, and spreading outward like the ripples in a pond when something is dropped into it. The ripples became larger and larger, filling the whole map over and over until only Yavin was visible, and the rest of the galaxy was just a jumble of heaving color.

_Step one: _said Cace, _The invocation of power._

The ripples began to clear, dying away and leaving Yavin circling alone in the center of a huge circular area of impenetrable darkness bordered by the stars that had fused into an indistinguishable, shifting blur of color.

_ Step two: State your case._

Around them, the stars began to lengthen and darken, growing vertically until they had become the thick, leafy stalks of jungle trees, bursting into bud and then leaf as Lilandra watched in awe. She was no longer floating in the lake, it seemed, but rather standing on the packed, solid mud of the jungle floor. And, most remarkable of all, just ahead of her, the trees bent and parted, revealing flashes of a crumbling yellow façade, a gaping garage, rows of dust-caked windows.

_That's the Academy!_ Lilandra cried, and without thinking, took a step forward, every fiber of her suddenly homesick being aching to run the path and break through the trees and leap across the landing pad and kiss the floor.

But though it felt liked she had moved, she went nowhere. Instead, a painful, familiar ringing started up in her ears, and she backed away again, panicking as the jungle receded into blackness, the stars all rushing back to their stations to accost her for her gullibility. 

_ Step three: _Cace said, sounding satisfied, triumphant, _Contact. _

Lilandra opened her mouth to cry out, filled with an immediate, overwhelming understanding, and she felt her windpipe filling with water instead. She kicked to the surface, the sudden motion disturbing the map. It faded away into pitch-blackness again, but her ears still rung, and she was still gripped by a most potent awe, heavy and dark. 

She surfaced, coughing up bitter water. Cace appeared before her, looking worried.

"Lilandra?"

She stared at him, her eyes filled with a weight and sadness that completely destroyed any notion of frivolity about her.

"It was _you_?" she asked quietly.

He didn't answer right away. Averting his eyes first, he then turned, ducked beneath the water, and began gliding slowly through the blackness to the ledge.

"Hey!" Lilandra called, her voice still gentle, though strained. She kicked after him, filled with anxiety.

At the ledge, he surfaced; she reached out and grabbed his hand. He turned to face her, backing against the wall at the same time, both of them standing face-to-face on a step some depth below the surface. 

With great caution, Lilandra raised his hand from the water, and pressed it gently to the base of her throat. Cace dared to meet her eyes when he felt her heart pounding wildly beneath the damp, cool skin.

"Hey," she whispered, frowning, releasing his hand. He moved it to her shoulder instead, his cheeks flushing slightly. 

"It was a long time ago," he mumbled.

"Ten years," Lilandra nodded. "I wondered why you didn't seem more surprised to see that map this morning."

"I've had ten years to think about it," he replied. "On and off."

Lilandra took a deep breath, if only to calm her pulse. The revelation and her immediate proximity to Cace were sending her heart rate skyrocketing. _Stay calm_, she instructed herself, and aloud asked, "How? I mean … why? Wait – " 

She pressed her hand to her forehead, exasperated with her own inability to articulate at this most inopportune of times to shut down mentally. "That was the wrong question. I _know_ why. Just … how? Yeah. How? And why _you_?"

Cace managed a tiny smile, looking down. "I ask myself the same thing sometimes," he murmured.

Lilandra leaned forward, arranging her features into what she hoped was an expression of compassion. To her surprise, he didn't flinch away, but held her gaze evenly, reading past her sympathy to the rather frightened yet impressed woman beneath.

"The story of the Whills is the story of every individual in this village. All of us remember it in different ways. For some, the story ended on Yavin, with their deaths. For others, the story continued for years after we came here."

Lilandra nodded, sidestepping him and leaning on the submerged wall of the ledge behind her, feeling shaky and unusually alive, though her immediate instinct was to remain subdued. 

"And you?" Lilandra prompted.

"It ended for a little while for me," Cace said. "I had a new life here for many years. I didn't see it as imprisonment. Most children wouldn't. It was like moving away – just a different setting for events that would have happened wherever we had lived. Me growing up, Ilsa's birth, watching her grow up … it seemed natural to me. I was happy as long as I knew that my family was close at hand, as any kid would be …"

He trailed off, resting his palms on the surface of the water, watching with interest as it conformed to the shape of his fingers, accepting them for the time being as a part of its realm. 

"Eleven years ago," he continued, "when I was twelve years old, eight people from our village set out in the morning to explore the rest of this world on an expedition to claim it. I suppose the adults had grown restless of our imprisonment, and wanted to branch out, so Verina permitted these eight to undertake the task of charting the region. 

"My parents were among the explorers. They left Ilsa and I in Jiromie's care, promising to return for us someday, and they left. Months passed, my thirteenth birthday passed, I put another tick on the wood beneath my bed frame, and still there was no word from my mother and father. After a year from their departure, the village became resigned to the fact that our explorers were never going to return. Funeral rites were held with empty pyres, and my parents were committed to the spirit and forgotten."

He shrugged, appearing pained.

"Jiromie saw how lonely and confused I was, and so that year, he began showing me the secrets of this lake. He thought it would cheer me up, and it I suppose it did. It assured me that I wasn't all alone in the galaxy, as I had formerly thought. But he didn't expect that I would gain the strength of mind to use the lake's power myself.

"One night, the rumor started circulating the village that my parents and their companions had been murdered by Palpatine's spirit, as punishment for trying to leave, and fear swept through the village. The worst was that nobody had any sympathy for Ilsa and I. None of the other explorers had had children. Their families treated us like it had been our fault somehow, they held us accountable – Ilsa was only five and only Jiromie was willing to take us into his custody, and even though I'm grateful now, at the time I was angry. I felt so … betrayed – " 

He halted suddenly, his gentle features darkened with anger. 

Lilandra reached out and softly stroked his damp hair with the flat of her palm, thinking of the Ilkhaines, of accidentally using her inborn power one day to snatch a cooling cupcake from the table in plain sight of her mother … of the walloping she got that day, which her father justified by claiming it was the principle of the thing – she had to be taught the consequences of stealing – but what she really saw now as the first time she had wielded an incredible power over her parents, who lived in such pronounced fear of the Jedi that they'd felt it their duty to frighten those instincts out of her. 

She'd been angry then, too, had felt betrayed. She was five when the cupcake incident occurred. Until then, she had never used the Force in her life. She would not use it again without feeling the sting of her father's palm or the guilt that accompanied it until she was twenty-one years old. 

Cace responded to her gentle touch with a guilty smile, lowering his head.

"Oh, they forgot about it soon enough," he continued, taking her hand and curling his fingers over top of hers. "But just then, I felt I had forgotten what it was like to belong, felt I'd become an exile among exiles, to turn a phrase."

He chuckled. "I went to the galaxy lake to seek counsel. I suppose that … I wanted help, I wanted _out_, so I did the only thing I could think of: I used the link between the lake on Yavin 4 and the lake here to send for help."

"How?" Lilandra asked again, her voice disbelieving but encouraging, settled. She drew her fingers more tightly in towards her palm. 

He shrugged again. 

"The steps I told you. Invoke the power of your own most secret, powerful desire, state your wish, and make contact by 'touching' the planet. I didn't know how my message was going to reach the people I had observed inhabiting the world of Yavin 4, and years passed with no help, and no further disturbances.

"When I turned sixteen, I started work, and got completely absorbed in it, and taking care of Ilsa, and calming her fears as well as my own, and it got easier and easier to just forget about the whole experience … until now. Until you arrived with your Jedi."

In the silence that followed, the echo of his words died away, and Lilandra allowed all of this remarkable new information that she had just been given to sink in, connecting it to what she already knew from her experience with the galaxy lake. 

"Then I was right," she marveled after a time. Cace eyed her expectantly. 

"The night before we received … _your_ message," she began, smiling curiously as she returned his earnest gaze, "Luke and I visited the Temple of the Galaxy on Yavin – the model for this temple."

Cace nodded silently, and then frowned. "How had you known about it? That temple is miles from the Great Temple where your academy is housed, and I doubt you knew much about it if I'm to base that assumption on your surprise at its capacities. Granted, there are references to it in the Journal, but …"

"A simple history text," she explained. "I studied the modern variations of the religion of the Jedi extensively after I met Luke, mostly the Holocron, and a few other supplementary reference books. They referred to the temple more as myth than as fact. I was tempted to believe in its existence, though, simply because the moon of Yavin is dotted with Massassi ruins. Of course, I didn't know then that the Massassi had been Jedi."

"Of course," Cace grinned. "Aren't you the presuming one?"

Lilandra looked down into the shining ripples encircling her waist, coloring slightly, although he couldn't see it.

"Natural curiosity is not a crime. Surely you can appreciate that, Cace Lendene."

She dared to look up, anticipating a reaction to her use of his full name. His knowing smirk warmed her to her center. 

"Now there's a generalization if I've ever heard one," he replied.

She made as if to retaliate, but he held up a hand, chuckling. "Only kidding, Senator. Continue."

"Well, while Luke and I were checking out the map, we found our eyes were drawn to the planet we now know as Terapinn, and Luke … I don't know how to explain this, exactly … _touched_ the image. Reached his hand out and passed it through the apparition, sort of like you did when you made contact with Yavin. I didn't think anything of it until the next morning, when I reached out and took that same hand, and caused a huge emotional disturbance in the Force, accompanied by what I presume was a physical manifestation of your message for help – the map I showed you this morning. The most obvious connection was the lake, but there was always a missing link …"

"And that was?" Cace prompted.

" … _You_," she replied, after a moment's thought. "Even when Anakin traced the map's origins to Terapinn, and Mara identified Terapinn as the Emperor's secret experimental penal colony, we still didn't know how the message had found its way to us, particularly since Mara seemed to believe you, as prisoners, had been stripped of all modern transportation and communications technology."

"That is true, yes," Cace affirmed. "But now you only know who sent it, not how. At least, not completely. See, when I was thirteen, I actually had no idea how my message was going to find its way to Yavin. I only trusted that it would."

Lilandra considered this for a moment, staring past him to the arching doorway of the temple, and the mottled fringe of green that appeared in the darkness beyond it.

"Maybe that's the secret," she murmured, meeting his eyes once more. "It functions solely on …"

"The power of the will," he finished quietly for her, regarding her with such sobriety it made her heart ache for him. "Had anyone been to the temple before you and Luke visited it?"

"No," she replied softly. "Not for over twenty years at least. Not since before the war."

"Then that's the explanation. I sent my plea in faith, where it resided on your shores unnoticed for ten years, until Luke absorbed its intent when he passed his hand through the waters of the lake, and made it tangible by touching another who believed in its power."

"I don't believe it," Lilandra whispered, allowing the corners of her mouth to lift only a little as she realized that her hands had found their own way, unbidden, to his shoulders, where they held him at arms length, a gesture more intimate perhaps than any she might have imagined earlier. 

His own hands, calloused and rough and damp but somehow warm now resided gently on her face, his fingers lost in the wet tangle of her hair.

"Yes, you do," he murmured. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

Her smile lengthened.

For a moment, she wondered if she should kiss him, wondered if he was wondering the same thing. It would be so natural, she realized, understanding at this moment in particular that she was falling for Cace Lendene in a rather bad way. To kiss would be to turn this into an alluring, scripted, holovid occasion like so much of this mission had already been. She wished passionately for it to be so – nothing more than a clever plot, both of them actors, anticipating the future before it happened, the players in a great, improbable romance. 

But when she shook off her uncertain reverie, they were still standing there, limbs tangled like vines, motionless, each terrified to break the peace, even breathing silently. The water had stilled around them; they had become part of the scenery now, an extension of the temple, an oversized, unlikely carving on the wall. 

And Cace seemed sad, perhaps because she had lost her smile. 

"I'm cold," she whispered. 

He nodded, pulling his fingers from her hair, and then brushing it back into place. "Let's go."

"Let's go," she agreed. But he didn't move. For a moment, she thought he might have more to say, but he was merely waiting on a shiver to propel him to action. 

Bracing his hands on the ledge behind him, he pulled himself up onto it, still facing her. His feet caught the hem of her robe, and she ducked to her neck in the water, fighting a smile as his toes grazed her stomach.

When he had climbed onto the ledge, he knelt at the water's edge and held out his hand to her.

She took it, again shocked at its warmth, and clambered gracelessly out of the water, beginning to shiver immediately as her stiff gown suddenly doubled its weight and clung heavily to her form. She buckled slightly on the stones; he caught her by the wrists, and she hastily smiled thanks before crawling for her cloak.

Drawing it around her, relishing its relative warmth, she got to her feet and slipped into her leather sandals. 

Cace had risen also, and was staring out across the moon-dappled water, dripping into a puddle beneath his own feet. As he watched the surface of the lake dimple in the light wind, scattering the pale moonbeams on little ebony rafts, he perceived a brief, guilty sensation of being exposed, emptied … he wondered if maybe he'd taken too great a risk in telling Lilandra Ilkhaine his secrets. 

He turned back to the doorway for reassurance as a cloud fell across the moon, but Lilandra had already turned and wandered self-mindedly into the gathering darkness. 

  



	18. Chitchat

~18~

Chitchat

  


Han Solo was really very angry.

Angry that his brother- and sister-in-law and his children were lost somewhere in the recesses of wild space. 

Angry that his wife alleged to having a vision that implied they were in some kind of considerable danger while simultaneously being lost somewhere in the recesses of wild space. 

Angry at the Force itself for not endowing him with its virtues so that he might discover _how much_ danger they were considerably in as they drifted, lost in the recesses of wild space. 

Angry enough to need someone to blame. 

He stalked down the corridors of the great temple, too quiet now without the explosions issuing forth from behind the closed doors of the laboratory, or the sound of the holoscreen blaring at all hours of the day in the common room, and his rage swelled to the point of necessary release. He strode out the back door of the common room, around the corner of the building, and towards the unused doorway across from the hangar bay where Jaina's hammock was hung. 

As he expected, Kerryna Occot lay stretched out in it, swinging lazily back and forth with one of her long, tapered legs hanging over the side, a glass of water in her hand.

"Occot!" he roared as he jogged across the landing pad. "What in _hell _have you done to my wife and kids?"

Kerryna was so surprised, she dropped her cup. The sound of shattering glass and the hiss as the water evaporated on contact with the hot permacrete sent a stab of foreboding shooting through her.

"I don't know what you mean!" she protested, sitting up.

"You know damn well what I mean, you _dark little bitch_."

Kerryna shrank back in terror. She'd heard stories about Han Solo's famous temper, but she had thankfully never been its victim. Still, she was not about to quail in the face of the man's attack. This was a woman who'd dealt personally with an Emperor who was a thousand times more violent and abusive than Han Solo, on a good day. 

"I might be more inclined to discuss this trifling matter with you if you would kindly use my honorific, that being _The _Bitch, and not just any mere secondary bitch. Also, may I remind you that I am no longer dark, but rather simply dark-haired, or has your rage rendered you incapable of distinguishing color?"

Han stopped ranting long enough to consider her words, which, after some thought, he decided only angered him more. 

"I require a word, _Kerryna_," he rephrased, with mocking respect. 

"That's better. Do _you_ personally require a word, or can I direct any possibly helpful explanations to Leia, care of the common room couch?"

"Not that easy. You explain to me first," Han growled.

"Fair enough," Kerryna shrugged, but prayed that Han couldn't see her jugular throbbing with her heightened pulse. "Now, what _is _your problem?"

"A small matter of a disturbance in the Force, and a missing starship." Han was looking murderous. "Don't think I haven't seen you skulking around this past week, staying out of everybody's way."

"I do that anyway, not just under extenuating circumstances," Kerryna pointed out.

"Yes, well, case in point, it's been my experience that when people skulk, they're up to something. Besides, your track record is not exactly spotless."

"Point taken," Kerryna shrugged. "But I still think this matter would be better taken up between Leia and myself."

"Also fair," Han conceded. "Cut a deal, shall we?"

"Naturally," Kerryna said smoothly. "Will you agree to leave me alone for the rest of my life if I agree to be as helpful as possible on this matter of the missing ship that, _may I remind you_, is carrying my sister as well as your extended family, to whom I wish no harm?"

Han narrowed his eyes. "I normally like a shrewd businesswoman, but in this case, I think I'll beg to differ."

"Do we have a deal, Solo?" asked Kerryna, in a voice that was equally cold. 

"Sure, but don't expect me to shake on it," he grumbled.

"Not at all. I wouldn't want to catch that charming affliction of yours." 

"What's that?" Han asked suspiciously, as Kerryna hopped off the hammock and began sauntering in the direction of the common room door.

She brushed her straight, malt-colored locks over her shoulder, and turned to give him a sympathetic smile.

"Mistrust," she said lightly, and adjusted the lightsaber hanging at her waist before disappearing into the temple. 

  


Leia was lying on her stomach on the common room couch, with a pillow hugged to her chest and her head resting on the upholstered arm. Worry had reduced her to inaction, while Jacen had spent the day slaving over the radar screens, trying desperately to make contact with the crew of the _Jadesaber_, without success. Their comlinks had been inactivated, and the ship appeared almost to have been cloaked, for Terapinn was well within the reach of the long-distance sound radars, and yet the vessel did not appear. 

All afternoon, she'd been dictating worst-case scenarios to herself – _they've run out of fuel and been left to drift on the outskirts of the galaxy for all eternity; they've been ravaged by bandits out there on the outer rim; they landed, only to have their intentions mistaken and be taken hostage for another ten years while their captors send word of their slow and tortuous deaths a hundred million miles from their homes_ – while replaying the scene in the jungle in the somehow unoccupied part of her brain reserved for diplomatic logic. 

Thus far, she had managed to convince herself that, somewhere hidden among the memory of what she had witnessed in the woods, there was a clue, some indication that this unexpected shift in plans was actually in the natural order of things, that her brother and her children and her senator had _meant _to vanish completely without a word of warning, just a flash of suffering and then deep, impenetrable, suffocating silence. 

But she couldn't distinguish the real from the imagined, the solid from the shadows that had darted wildly through the trees around her, ignorant of her lying there in the mud. That is, until her clue walked jauntily through the common room door, dressed characteristically in black, whistling a maddeningly happy, oblivious tune. 

"Talk time," sang Kerryna Occot, redeemed Sith Lord, former Grand Admiral of the Imperial echelons, and Emperor Palpatine's favorite yet least famous former adolescent mercenary and plaything. "What's happened to the prodigal ones this time, hmm?"

"I'm inclined to admire your coolness in the face of adversity, Kerryna," Leia sighed patiently, not budging from her subdued repose on the couch as the forty-two year old Kerryna dragged over a folding chair and straddled it backwards, still humming.

"But?" Kerryna prompted, arching one immaculate eyebrow.

"But I hardly think it's prudent in this situation," said Leia stiffly. "Particularly not when your sister's gone missing."

"No kidding!" 

Kerryna, remarkably, didn't seem to be remotely affected by this news. 

"You aren't doing much to discourage my suspicions at the moment, Kerryna," Leia warned, deciding that Kerryna might be easier to deal with if she were sitting up and facing her straight on. 

"I know, your husband's just informed me that I'm to be terminated at sundown if I don't directly confess that this is all my fault."

Sitting up, it was then that Leia noticed Han lurking outside the common room door, his hair shining in the sunlight, a cigarra pinched between his index and middle fingers. 

"Han!" she barked. He stuck his head around the doorframe, looking righteous. 

"Your highness-ness?"

"Get lost. We're having a girly chat."

"You'll be okay?"

"Don't worry," Kerryna bellowed over her shoulder, "I won't eat her."

"That's the least of my concerns!" Han growled, but obeyed his wife and closed the door. 

"Now," Leia said, becoming business-like.

"Yes," seconded Kerryna. "As I was saying, I was just outside enjoying my last hours on death row, when your charming husband charmingly accused me of having something to do with this latest charming Solo-Skywalker family tragedy."

"You mentioned a direct confession."

"I didn't confess anything," Kerryna stated flatly. "Although if you'd explain to me precisely what's happened to cause you to lie so listlessly about the academy, I might be of some service."

Leia supposed that Kerryna at least deserved an explanation, since more often than not she was the one singled out as the likely cause of whatever recent strife had befallen the resident families of the Academy. 

So, with her heart beating in her throat, Leia recounted to Kerryna the story of her walk in the woods, and the voices, and the fleeing shadows, and the solitary solid figure darting through the trees in the opposite direction, and the way time had seemed to pass as though it wasn't passing at all but rather bounding ahead or biting off pieces of itself and leaving raw, uncomfortable blanks. She told how the _Jadesaber_ had vanished from the radar screens not long after. 

Through it all, she failed to see the way Kerryna was becoming noticeably more agitated, her hands twisting in her lap, her teeth gnawing furiously at her lower lip. Perhaps she refused to see, so lost was she in the strange and disturbing retelling of her ordeal, but again and again, her necessary clue darted past her, the only real among the unreal, a force of opposition in its very essence. 

So it was that when Leia again saw that lone figure hurrying frantically past, pushing its way through the shadows as though they were clouds of insects, she began to recognize the malt-colored hair flashing in the sunshine, the gleam of the metal tube hanging at the person's waist, the long, black-clad legs and feminine torso, the face hidden behind a cowl … all the things she had ignored when she had been lost in the moment in the forest. 

All the things now sitting, draped against the back of a chair, right in front of her. 

Her heart turned to ice as she dared to glance up at Kerryna, who was sitting very still indeed, looking at her feet, which were bare. Red polish on pale toes stood out against the gray of the floor, and Leia swallowed hard. She didn't even have to ask. Kerryna's submissive posture said it all. 

"The figure in the woods – that was _you_?"

"Congratulations," Kerryna said sweetly, brushing her hair back over her shoulder.

"Then you saw the vision, too?" Leia asked, naivety taking over for just a second as she wondered if perhaps Kerryna might actually be an ally to her, as bewildered by the occurrences of the past thirty-six hours as she was herself. 

But Kerryna didn't answer right away, as she was too preoccupied drawing courage for what she knew she had to do, if not sooner then perhaps later, and Leia's momentary confidence in the woman evaporated the instant Kerryna opened her mouth to say, "I have something I should probably tell you."

Leia eyed her disbelievingly. The retired villain, responsible once again for mayhem? It was too simple. There had to have been accomplices, there had to have been a motive – and she had thought Kerryna incapable of harboring malicious intent towards anyone, her lingering guilt dictated it that way.

But no, Kerryna was sitting here like a child awaiting punishment with hands outstretched, anticipating the cane, confessing everything with the expression on her face.

"_How_," Leia demanded in a low voice, leaning forward. "How is it even possible that you, after all these years, could still have the potential to wreak havoc?"

Kerryna flinched, for no apparent reason other than the words that sprang to her lips, ones she knew she'd have to say eventually, but was holding back because they would finish her for sure in the eyes of the woman she'd tried for half a decade to redeem herself to. 

"Just know this," she said instead. "Your brother and your family and my sister are in no danger. They will be kept safe …"

She halted, looking meaningfully at Leia. "They will be kept safe in the hands of the Jedi."

"By the Force," Leia hissed, and followed that up with an uncharacteristic outpouring of profanity. "They were Jedi, those people in the woods."

"Yes." Kerryna's voice had become very small now.

"And how do you know this, dare I ask?" Leia asked, knowing the answer before Kerryna even had time to phrase it.

"Twenty years ago, I was still allied with the Emperor. And I helped him imprison the people who today inhabit the penal colony of Terapinn."

It was a smooth delivery; Leia had to hand it to her. There was none of the usual blubbering apologies or blatant, panicked denials she had become familiar with while overseeing the trials of the war criminals who had not had time to either go into hiding or to commit suicide before meeting with a fate worse than death at the unforgiving hands of Gilad Pellaeon and Leia Organa-Solo. Nor did Kerryna even attempt to mask the truth somehow, or paint it a brighter color than it actually was. She had just confessed, and that surprised Leia more than even the most contrived of confessionals would have. 

It was such a surprise that she almost forgot to be angry, until several minutes had ticked by and she had begun to think of other things. That Kerryna had been responsible for the imprisonment of Jedi was not such a shock. Worse crimes had been committed at the hands of the former fiend of the Republic, the darling of the Empire. 

That she had alluded to these people being _alive,_ after twenty years – that was a shock. And that was what made Leia angry.

"These Jedi live, then?" she asked, just to be sure.

"I'm sure of it," Kerryna said. "I've been to the Galaxy Lake to check on them every day since my sister departed. To make sure they would not be committed to a world uninhabited and desolate, and waste their time on the mistakes of the past."

"So you have known for twenty years that these people live, and for the past five you have had the power to do something about it, and yet you leave them there, imprisoned?" 

Now Leia's anger was feeling justified. Incredulity was threatening to unleash her fury upon the woman.

"What was I supposed to do?" Kerryna asked helplessly, spreading her hands.

"_Bring them home_!" Leia shouted. "The minute you knew you could, the moment you realized that what you did was wrong! Or does that moment have yet to come?"

"No!" Kerryna cried, rising from her chair. "I have lived with my mistakes every day for the past five long years, Leia. But if they had been my doing, and my doing _alone,_ I could do my best to reverse them. These are not _only_ my mistakes, though. I only helped carry them out. The man who conceived them has been _dead_ these twenty years, and the rules of redemption leave me powerless to undo a crime I did not commit.

"Surely you know, Leia," she continued, "that you can only be completely forgiven for that which you alone caused. And what I caused was the flight of the people who sought shelter on this world over twenty years ago, at the height of the rebellion. My duty was to chase them out, deliver them into the hands of the Emperor. I did not physically imprison them. I did not kill their children or their husbands and wives and brothers. 

"I bid them leave," she said with a cynical sneer, gesturing to the door, " to put it nicely. And I cannot chase them back."

"So you leave the task to your redeemers," Leia said bitterly.

"So I do," Kerryna said soberly. "They are much more capable than I."

"They aren't too scared to stand up to a dead oppressor, you mean," Leia spat. 

"Then you think I'm a coward?" Kerryna asked, so innocently it almost made Leia want to eat her words. 

A 'coward' was the last word she would've used to describe Kerryna Occot. But that was what she had implied, though in truth she didn't know _what_ to think. Someone had to take responsibility for the actions of Emperor Palpatine, and on the whole, she would rather not have had it be her brother and family. 

But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that even Kerryna was powerless. Her whole life, this woman had been answering to an Emperor, a tyrant. He had given her instructions, and she had obeyed without consideration or care.

Now, she had no one to answer to but herself, and though many of her mistakes remained uncovered, there was truth in her words. There was no way to unbind her actions from the actions of the Emperor's. They had existed as an entity, and as much as she might be able to undo the crimes she alone was responsible for, there could be no redemption or retribution for the man to whom she'd been bound for so long. 

"None of the mission crew know about this?"

"No," said Kerryna. "Not even Lilandra, though I wish I'd told her. Even the imprisoned Jedi … of all of them, only two know who I am."

"Who?" Leia asked, as though it were important.

"Their leader, and one man, an Augur who was working for the Emperor. His was a hard decision – he foresaw the exile of his people, and had to choose whether he would flee, or join his people as a good patriot would. He will remember me best."

"But they are safe?"

"They are safe," Kerryna assured her. 

But as she left Leia's presence with that last, she couldn't help but wonder what seeds the Emperor might have sown in her absence, what treachery he might have devised to ensure that this people he so hated would never arise to have him thrown down, and guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders. 

By nightfall, in the midst of a roaring Yavin thunderstorm, worry had sapped her of any other feeling, just as it had done Leia, and the two women were strangely united against something unknown, yet somehow meant to be feared at the same time, while a million miles away, on a world absent from the cares of the galaxy, the mission crew danced beneath the stars. 


	19. Good Night

~19~

Good Night

  


The dance lasted well into the new day, until one by one the children of the village fell asleep on the benches and their parents reluctantly carried them away to bed, and the musicians began to tire, as did the dancers laughing and cheering in the center of the floor. At last, in the wee hours of the morning, Ilsa Lendene led the Yavin crew towards their dwellings in the midst of a crowd of other Whills traversing the narrow dirt paths between the houses, some nursing sprained ankles and bruised shins from unskilled partners, but smiling just the same. 

Anakin held Tara's hand as they traipsed up a slight rise towards a dwelling near the back of the village. Joy had pounded her indecision into submission, and she hummed quietly to herself, her head resting lightly on Anakin's shoulder, her fingers laced tightly in his. 

"That was some fun, wasn't it?" he asked, and she hummed a 'yes', nodding vigorously against his shoulder. 

"We should take up dancing around the academy," he added. "I bet Mara would teach us some tricks."

"You'd still have no rhythm," Tara teased softly.

"Maybe so, but I could at least step on your feet _artfully,_" Ani grinned, and stopped, swinging her around onto his arm and leading her in a clumsy waltz along the path. She laughed, feeling giddy as she tripped over stones and felt his arm muscles tense in response, always holding her up, always ensuring that she wouldn't fall. 

And yet, as she relished the feeling of his arms around her waist and the purity of his smile, she thought of all the times she'd let him down, when regret or uncertainty had stood in the way of moments like this, when it didn't matter where they were or when, or why, just that they were there together, and she felt somewhat guilty. 

Here he had always given to her willingly, unflinchingly, and been patient and had always met her at the door to their apartment when she returned, shamefaced, from one of her panicked escapades from the commitment of being his lover, his girlfriend, his roommate. And she had always been the one to run away, to feel the need for solitude, and time to forget the feeling of his hands on her shoulders, her waist, her back, the way such touches sent shivers through her and made her feel ashamed to desire someone she couldn't give her heart to, at least, not completely. 

To share his bed and his living space without a total commitment to his heart seemed a sacrilege to traditional Tara, and on the ship, she had never felt the need for distance more strongly. Which is why she had declined to share his bunk; a minor matter at face value, but a deeper rejection than was absolutely necessary, she thought now. 

Which was why she abruptly stopped skipping girlishly along the path, and pulled Anakin against her, pressing her lips skillfully against his, to the effect that he suddenly seemed to relax, his arms automatically finding their way around her waist, his mouth moving in tandem with hers. Standing there, they left the walking crowd behind, and the village became invisible, and neither one thought of anything for a minute or two. 

It was Anakin who broke away first, reluctantly, and his eyebrows came together immediately. His face was dappled with shadow, and he looked older, more skeptical. 

"Why the sudden thaw?" he asked her quietly, managing a tone that was jovial enough at face value, but counteracted by the hesitance in his eyes. 

Tara bit her lip, trying to conjure up Dave's advice from the ship, about taking his childhood in stride and swapping indecision for a bit of physical pleasure, though it seemed selfish now.

"What do you mean?" she asked, feigning innocence.

Anakin sighed. "This on-again, off-again stuff, Jaks. Joking around in the laboratory one minute and avoiding me in the hallways the next, being pissy on the ship and then acting like … like this. It's like someone finally took your heart out of cold storage, and I want to know why."

Tara considered for a moment everything that had transpired in the past forty-eight hours, and was suddenly hit with a stab of crashing desperation. Conflict with her boyfriend seemed to be the least significant thing at this moment, standing here, on unfamiliar terrain, and for the first time in goodness knew how long, her thoughts were stilled long enough for one particularly potent one to emerge above all the others: _I need you._

She opened her mouth to say it, already anticipating the explanation that he'd demand, dreaming up some words that might possibly express how much she appreciated that he was experiencing this along with her, that he knew all about adversity and isolation and had been struck with the potent surrealism of their situation, but perhaps time had caused her face to become more expressive, her eyes more reflective of the troubled mind behind them, because Anakin simply smiled, cupping his hand around her small shoulder.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean that."

"Me too," she replied, and they kept walking. "I've been so … dumb lately."

"Hardly," Ani chuckled. "Who was the one who found our way here?"

"I don't mean scientifically. Just … personally." She sighed. "Something about this place makes me want to stop feeling so overwhelmed all the time now. It's like I've finally seen everything the galaxy has to offer me."

"You're having a hard time believing in this too?" Anakin asked.

"Absolutely. I find it so … incredible that these people managed to foil the Emperor by building all this from nothing." She gestured at the low, sturdy dwellings surrounding them, the implications of home, and love, and life above all else. "He'd be pissed if he knew."

The two of them laughed for some inexplicable reason then, uncontrollably for at least five minutes, perhaps venting their amusement at the improbability of the circumstances – coming all this way to have dinner and a dance and to find themselves arriving at the front door of a _house_, bigger even than their shared academy apartment with its sagging futon and sun-faded drapes.

"It's unlocked," Tara said, testing the wooden latch. 

"Let's go," Anakin shrugged. 

Inside, they found that someone had already been to tidy up the clearly vacant dwelling – the lanterns hanging from the wall had been lit, bathing the single room in flattering yellow light, and the comfy-looking bed nestled in its wooden frame had been turned down and festooned with thick, woven blankets. Somehow, their bags had found their way from Luke's arms to the floor beside the door in which they stood squished cozily together, and whoever had been tending to the room had even hung their flightsuits up to air out on a wooden rack pushed underneath the large, singular window on the back wall. Tara wondered if Najou or Wedaika had been responsible for prettying the place up; it seemed logical. 

"This is nice," Anakin said, and Tara hummed agreement, going to the bed and stretching out upon it, yawning widely. 

"Home-y," she commented. "A little sparse, though."

She was thinking wistfully of the apartment – when she and Anakin had moved in together, they'd squashed together their respective belongings with such vigor, surprising themselves with how well Tara's sand-colored floor rugs coordinated with Anakin's scratched, wooden desk, and how nicely their knickknacks had melded together upon the shelves, and how naturally they'd both made the transition from having too much space to not enough.

_Love is all about acceptance,_ Tara thought, shyly watching as Anakin pulled off his cloak and robes and began rooting around in his bag for his trusty sweater jacket. _I haven't been accepting enough of Anakin._

It was such a basic revelation; she was ashamed that she hadn't thought of it before and suffered endless nights of fitful indecision, sleeping on the couch when there was room for her in the bed, or hogging the bed when she should've just taken the couch.

The Whills were an infinitely accepting people, from what she'd observed so far. They took what they'd been dealt with great patience and perseverance. Their unflinching compliance to the beliefs of their religion had even extended as far as love: there was none of this awkward stage between dating and marriage, this in-betweening, hovering back and forth between certainty or doubt for the future of the relationship. It was like science – black and white. It would either work, or it wouldn't. 

_I need a refill of faith, _Tara sighed inwardly. _Maybe I used all of mine up fighting pointless battles over bathroom rights or who gets the side of the bed nearest the window. Maybe somewhere along the way, I stopped believing that it was possible to love without conflict. Maybe it's the drama that gets in the way of truly feeling. _

The mattress rocked slightly as Anakin flung himself onto it, laughing crazily like a little kid as he tackled Tara into the pillows, interrupting her thoughts. She screeched, giggling, which only seemed to egg him on as he pinned her to the bed by her legs and tickled her stomach ferociously until she gasped for mercy between shrieks of laughter. 

"The neighbors will complain!" she exclaimed, making a futile attempt to grab his wrists.

"Only because you're screaming!" he laughed, digging his fingers harder into her belly and making her squeal and kick.

"Come on, stop it. Stop it!" 

But Tara knew, as did Anakin, that in love, commands are reversed, and sometimes 'stop it' can mean 'keep going', and 'no' can mean 'yes', and 'I hate you', when it really comes down to it, means 'I love you so much' on some subconscious level. 

So that when Anakin tired of tickling her and both of them lay panting and giggling on top of the blankets, all the things that had been said took on a new appearance, one that was clearer in the dim light in the dwelling, and the way that Tara could feel Anakin's pulse strong beneath his rough palms as he gazed at her from across the pillow, his eyes shining. 

"I love it here," Anakin said, and with those words, Tara felt that he had just completely justified the entire mission. Dictated that everyone's duty was to find a way back into themselves on a deeper level than before, as they had. Or maybe he was really just saying 'I love _you._"

  


Lilandra was only dimly aware of Cace following her as she hiked back up the steep embankment to the path. Her sandaled feet sank in the soft mud, and with each labored step, her soaked robe wetly separated itself from her ankles and then swung swiftly back to conform to the contours of her bones and muscles with the precision of a magnet, convicting her feet with a soft, admonishing slap. 

"Lilandra, wait," Cace puffed from behind her. He had been using her name with more frequency now; the sound of it troubled Lilandra greatly. "Why the rush?"

She glanced quickly back at him, but his eyes were on the muddy path, and where he was walking.

Her rush was to flee the depth and feeling she had seen in Cace's eyes back at the temple, that lusty determination in each awkward, prophetic statement he made to her. 

That brief moment of illumination, when she'd felt, standing so close to him, like she could touch the tension between them, and the wanting to break it that had created in her head the crazy idea that she should kiss him, that had startled her. She had surprised herself more by doing nothing but hanging on to the moment.

There was something about Cace that had held her back from her usual instinct to go for what she most desired, made her want to behave, to speak only when spoken to, to keep her rampant sexuality in check. At the same time, she pined to impress him, to show him that she could be more intelligent than frivolous, more perceptive than impulsive and misinformed, as she sometimes seemed. 

They had forged a certain covenant of trust back at the temple; to want anything more from him than to be the sole bearer of his ten-year secret seemed to be a sacrilege. But she had. 

Indeed, now Lilandra Ilkhaine was embarrassed. But she still trusted him.

And in trusting him … she felt she liked that sensation, of being understood in addition to being desired.

She had no doubt in her mind now that she could ask him loosely to spend the night with her, and he would gladly oblige; they had both been drinking copious amounts of wine with dinner, they had danced and talked and even empathized with each other, and there was a definite attraction between them, Lilandra was certain. But to leave it at that would be to leave a task unfinished. Things had progressed much farther than a name, yet her name was all he had to say, and she felt her heart sinking into her shaking knees. 

She feared greatly that she was losing the control she so desperately needed to wield over all in her world. She feared greatly that if the roles were to reverse, and *_he*_ were to make an advance upon her first, she would not have the will to refuse.

All told, it was herself she didn't trust. 

She needed a way to determine the score, calculate her odds of winning with her emotions intact.

As if answering her prayers, thunder rolled again in the sky above, and a fine drizzle began to fall, coating the tree leaves with soft, cool water.

"It's raining," she called behind her, a hint of gratitude emerging in her voice. "I'm soaked, you're soaked, we're both freezing … don't *_you*_ think we should hurry?"

He made a noise of reluctant assent behind her, and they squelched onward, the physical strain of walking uphill the only thing keeping them warm.

On the path, it was much darker than before, as the dance had ended and the lanterns had been extinguished, and Lilandra limped along with rainwater dripping in her eyes, her spirits becoming further dampened. Her feet ached from the dancing and the walking flat foot, and her legs were cramped from the cold. 

With the deep darkness surrounding her, and the rain forming a thick, misty curtain in front of her eyes, she didn't even see the jagged stone jutting out of the ground in front of her until she was upon it. 

Her sandal snagged, and she stumbled a few feet and fell hard, hitting the ground with a force that knocked the breath right out of her lungs. Her chin hit the ground, cracking her teeth together and rattling her head, and there was the faintly audible hiss of separating flesh as the craggy peak of the stone tore a deep gash along the length of her shinbone, from her knee to just above her ankle.

Instantly, a crimson river burst forth from the wound, and Lilandra lay immobilized with shock on the path, unable to even breathe until the first stab of pain shot through her leg, and she gasped.

"Lilandra! _Aneh myeh_!" Cace sounded a tiny bit exasperated. 

In agony now, and still shocked, Lilandra struggled onto her scraped elbows and eased herself onto her back, hearing the wet crunch of gravel beneath her. There was then the sound of large and potentially sharp fragments of rock being kicked out of the way as Cace hurried over.

"Are you alright?" he asked from somewhere beside her.

"No," she whimpered. For some reason, he laughed softly at this, and dropped to his knees beside her on the path, his fingers seeking and instantly finding the source of the dark liquid pooling between the stones. Producing the lighter from his pocket, he flicked it, and Lilandra felt stinging warmth on the soles of her feet as Cace sliced the darkness with the tiny flame, assessing her wound. 

"Is it bad?" Lilandra asked, biting her tongue to keep from screaming, trying politeness. She could only see the concerned arch of Cace's eyebrows by the firelight as he suddenly clamped his palm over the torn division between muscle and bone. 

"It's pretty bad," he replied honestly, tightening his grip on her leg as a few rivulets of blood spilled through his fingers and over his knuckles. Her leg promptly went numb, no longer flesh but made of needles of tingling cold that shocked her to the tips of her fingers. She couldn't stop a couple of disparaging tears from squeezing from between her eyelids, and she shuddered.

"We should definitely hurry back now," Cace said, removing his hand from her wound and extinguishing his little flame. Darkness devoured the faint glow that remained in the air. 

Lilandra gripped her calf, biting her lip. "I don't think I should walk."

There was a silence, broken only by the pattering of the rain on the leaves of the trees towering above them. 

"Do you want me to carry you?" Cace asked finally. 

"No," Lilandra replied, too quickly. "Maybe I can roll back, ha-ha." 

In truth, she would've liked nothing better than to have Cace carry her back to the village. He knew it, too. They were playing now, to the invisible gallery.

"That's not funny," he said, but chuckled again anyway for some reason. 

_ Carry me_, Lilandra thought, as loud as she could. 

"Just let me carry you," Cace said. "We need to dress that wound before it gets infected."

She sighed, half out of relief, and half out of actual discomfort. She drew her knees up from the wet ground, trying to calm down enough to slow her pulse, which drove the blood from her veins in frantic throbs. Cace's hands slid across her back and underneath her knees, and lifted her off the sharp stones.

"Drop me, and – " she threatened; she stopped with a miserable moan. It was pointless.

He simply made an amused noise, and began picking his way gingerly along the path, his footsteps measured and careful.

She tried to let herself relax in his arms, but she was afraid, and she knew he could tell. The sight of the torn flesh and the blood glistening thickly on her leg made her stomach turn. She gripped Cace's shoulder, whimpering. He stopped, shifting her in his sure grip, and gently breathed cool air on her forehead, which soothed her vaguely. 

She kept her eyes closed then, concentrating on the bobbing rhythm of his steps, the raindrops falling on her face, the warmth of her cloak, and gradually, she felt herself relaxing, falling back into reality but ignoring the fantastical – like the fact that any fresh-faced collegiate girl in her right mind would've died to be her right now: wounded in the arms of this unassuming god. Somehow, once she'd gotten past the pain, the circumstances did become sort of funny, in the flawed context of a comedy of errors. 

When she opened her eyes, Cace was striding purposefully towards a dwelling quite near to the outcropping that hid Verina's home. She relished the sight of its slanting wood tiled roof, glistening in the faint lantern light that glowed in the single window facing them.

"Home, sweet home," Cace announced, setting her down on the soft grass outside the low doorway and steadying her with his arm.

"Praise be," she sighed, leaning on the wall and lifting her cloak to check on the state of her leg. It was bleeding less, but the severity of the wound was all that more apparent now in the absence of escaping life-fluid. A flap of skin had been entirely torn away from the front of her shin, leaving a deep, tender, crimson gash that was the width of her thumb and at least ten inches long. The image impressed itself upon Lilandra's memory, and she wondered why she wasn't feeling more pain. 

"We should clean that up and wrap it," Cace said. He looked hesitant. 

"I can do it," Lil offered. "I just need some cloth and …"

_ Disinfectant. Tara's asleep by now, and she's got all the first aid supplies._

"What do you use to clean wounds around here?" Lilandra asked worriedly, praying that Cace wouldn't say that here on Terapinn, they just sort of left things up to chance and the good will of the Maker. 

"You don't want to know," Cace said mysteriously, tapping his nose, but he was only joking … at least, Lilandra hoped he was only joking. 

"I'll go find something," he said. "Dry clothes as well?"

"I've got some, thanks. I'll just … go change. Yeah."

She was feeling very stupid and incompetent all of a sudden, limping through the unlatched door of the dwelling. 

Her bag had been left inside the doorway, and she dragged it laboriously to the bed, where she fell gratefully backwards, her legs sticking awkwardly out over the end of the mattress. She tried hard not to bloody up the sheets too badly as she located and slipped into a pair of knee-length cotton pants that left her wound exposed, and a sleeveless white shirt. Very tasteful, she thought, catching a glimpse of herself in the cracked mirror hanging above the bed – another stolen Imperial relic, she supposed. Impressive. 

Cace returned, arms laden with long strips of fabric, a vial containing a questionable, milky substance, and a worn olive jacket. He found Lilandra lying stretched out on the bed with her leg in the air, making faces at herself in the mirror. She didn't appear to have noticed his return. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection, and then grinned, and then pulled down her lower eyelids and stuck out her tongue again, and then arranged her features into a look of feigned austerity. 

Cace watched this with great amusement. She looked decidedly different when she wasn't covered with yards of fabric, he thought, taking in her muscular arms and the smooth, tanned skin of her unharmed leg, and the thin ribbon of flesh visible between the waistband of her shorts and the hem of her shirt. 

_ She's got a pretty face, too,_ he reminded himself, swimming up from languorous stupor and guiltily approaching her. _This is going to be hard to explain tomorrow morning if anyone saw us come in here. _

"Here," he said, attracting her attention. "Got some supplies."

She was sitting up in a flash, heat spreading across her cheeks. 

"Great, thanks," she replied appreciatively, with an edge of forced maturity. "I can do it."

"Are you sure? Maybe I'd better just clean it for you. I don't think you're familiar with natural disinfectant." He shook the vial at her. 

There was a brief moment where she must've seen the indecision in his eyes, coupled with thinly veiled attraction, because she was eyeing him dubiously, calculatingly.

"Whatever you say, Doctor Lendene."

So he sat on the bed beside her, pulling her leg across his lap, and tipped the contents of the vial into one of the rags he carried before applying it to the cut. Lilandra gasped without meaning to as the liquid hit her open wound like a hot wire, and she saw Cace wince apologetically when her leg jerked self-mindedly out of the way of the rag.

"Sorry," he mumbled, dabbing away at her skin.

"It's okay," Lilandra whispered, her heart beating fast.

_ *This is the game*,_ she reminded herself, her stomach suddenly flip-flopping. She was all too aware of Cace's gaze idly wandering the various parts of her body barely obscured by her makeshift pajamas. *_You get what you ask for, and this is all a part of it.*_

The self-consciousness she felt bothered her. Oh why, *_why*_ did she feel so nervous all of a sudden? Because he was sitting here with her, dressing her injury with careful attention to her physical comfort, indicating that he'd considered her body, her well being? Or because, as he quickly fashioned a neat tourniquet from another strip of fabric, Lilandra realized that this was the part of every entendre she hated the most: the inevitable goodnight. 

"Done," he informed her, gently patting her shin. Her skin prickled at his touch. "Want to try walking a bit?"

"Yeah, might as well," she nodded. 

She allowed him to pull her into a standing position, and he held her close to him as she took a few tentative steps across the floor. 

"We've turned you into a gimpy! A credit to my doctoring abilities," he commiserated with mock disappointment as she put her weight on the bad leg and immediately crumpled, falling halfway before he caught her by the waist and hoisted her up again.

"I've survived worse," she said through gritted teeth. "Say, Cace – what's the jacket for?"

Lilandra had just noticed the olive green soldier's coat lying on the bed. 

"It's mine. It gets awfully cold here at night, and, well." He paused, his eyes flicking to her thin shirt. "I don't think you'll be warm enough. I thought you might need it later on."

"Oh." Lilandra felt dizzy all of a sudden. 

"It came with the lighter," he added, grinning. 

"That's very considerate of you," she said, and yawned widely. *_Awake!*_ she ordered herself sharply. *_This is important. You can't miss it.*_

"Tired?" Cace asked. 

"Just a bit," Lilandra replied lightly, though her eyes wanted to close. It occurred to her that she was still standing in his arms, her stomach pressed to his, their faces probably unnecessarily close. 

"Well, my hut's right in front of yours, so if you need anything, just shout," Cace said, looking down, and Lilandra got the impression that he was just stalling for time. Excellent. Her anxiety dissolved. She wondered if he could feel her pulse, standing this close.

"Literally," she smirked, and waited for him to chuckle. But he didn't seem to have caught the joke, because he didn't move. It was *_her*_ move.

"Well, are you going to bugger off and let me recover?" she asked with a sly smile, and having seen her duty clear, pulled away slightly from his reassuring embrace. 

There was a flash of indecision, a heart-stopping pause on the part of both them, Cace perhaps considering the magnitude of what he was tempted to do, Lilandra wondering hesitantly if he would, and then – 

"Not yet," he whispered, and pulled her by the elbows back towards him, kissing her on the mouth.

His concentration was expert, but the execution was awkward, and the total effect thrilling and bewildering to say the least, and abruptly, Lilandra began to laugh, right in the middle of his intended romantic moment. The game was hers. Winner take all. 

Happiness filled her to the tips of her fingers as they pulled gently at the hem of his shirt – nothing strident, just playful enhancement of the moment. 

Surprised by her giggles, he drew away.

"I've done something to amuse you?" he asked, sounding a little insulted. After all the indecision, he'd finally drawn up the courage to be as impulsive as she … and she was _laughing at him?_

"I'm sorry, Cace," Lilandra said bemusedly, feeling lightheaded, disbelieving, fulfilled and yet ravenous at the same time. "That was a surprise, that's all."

"A good surprise?" he asked doubtfully.

Redemption time. 

"You be the judge."

Amending her shock, she grabbed his shoulders and kissed him back, harder this time. No sense in being a *_greedy*_ winner. 

She ran out of breath quickly, though, and stepped back again, blushing furiously as she gulped air.

There was a moment's hesitation that followed this exchange in which neither of them did anything at all, but stood rather numbly in the center of the floor, looking at it quite deliberately, Lilandra realizing with a mixture of horror and pleasure that she was fifteen again, unsure of what to do with her lips next, afraid that words from them would spoil the moment but forbidden to proceed silently until they both could summon the courage to make eye contact.

And then she dared to look up, thinking she was giving in first, and saw that Cace was already grinning bashfully, looking proud of himself, and there was a flash of encouragement in his eyes and an expectant tension in his body – 

Third time lucky, they met in the middle, his hands on her waist and hers falling in line across his back, parallel bars of skin pulling him in, drawing them together.

Leaning into him, slipping into a natural stance and a presence of mind far from the world of Terapinn, the future or a past memory flashed through Lilandra's mind. They could've been any two people, anywhere – on a street corner under a halogen globe, in the middle of the Yavin jungle, anywhere but this outpost, anyone but a senator and an unwillingly celibate farmer. That was the beauty of it. 

For the time being, desire was a permissible notion, and his lips were warm and tasted good, and he filled her arms when he inhaled, and she felt herself sliding away, holding on tight.

It was a long time that they stood there, fastened to each other, always the same desperation, the knowledge that now might be the only time they could be together like this inspiring the course of their starving hands and mouths. 

When at last they broke reluctantly apart, Lilandra felt compelled to voice her conclusions.

"It's been an interesting evening," she said truthfully, and he actually blushed, looking awkwardly at his feet, keeping his hands on her waist. 

"You sure don't mince words, Senator," he smirked. 

"If I did, I'd be generalizing," she replied. "Some things demand accuracy."

"Did you have a good time, though?" he asked. The sparkle in his eyes told her it was an empty question; he didn't really mean it.

"You really are a man," she scoffed, pushing him lightly aside.

He pulled her back, kissing her again, with a conviction that made her smile against his mouth. He was a right old professional at this now, but then, the expressions of attraction need only genuine passion to instruct them.

"You know where I am if you need anything," he murmured cordially into her ear, brushing his fingertips against her temples. "Goodnight, Lilandra."

Li*_lan*_dra. _Oh my goodness._

"Goodnight, Cace," the senator replied, falling away into blissful oblivion before he was even out the door, before she could demand an explanation, before she had a chance to spoil the moment with petty details. Some things demanded accuracy; this sure wasn't one of them. 

The only reminders of her injury were the dull ache in her ankle where she'd twisted it in her fall, and the thick crimson streak blossoming on her bandage, glistening where slowly, imperceptibly, her blood was seeping away. 

  



	20. The Premonition

~20~

The Premonition

  


It was Lilandra's expectation and experience that, the night of an affair or a flirtation, she would be blessed with dreams that only served to reassure her that this was the one that would work out in the end. She dreamed vividly on a day-to-day basis, but they were cryptic dreams, filled with symbolism that left her feeling bewildered but pleased with the complexity and depth of her own subconscious thoughts.

It was the dreams reminiscent of puberty and adolescence that gave her cause to enjoy her usual eight hours of unconsciousness – the fulfillment of kisses yet to be had, the faceless bodies of men she had yet to meet, the way she swore she could _feel_ the touch of someone's hand on her back or her shoulder or the exchange of air between her mouth and another's. 

The way she always awoke slowly to an empty bed with nonsensical words on her lips that seemed to hold some cherished meaning at the same time, eager to dive into her day, wondering what interesting, romantic somethings she'd have to think about the next night as she was falling gradually away to sleep. 

Cace wandered in and out of the visions of shallow sleep as Lilandra traveled deeper into the recesses of her subconscious, heading towards the eventual point where her body would relinquish control entirely to her mind. She would not remember the dreams she passed along the way. Only when her heartbeat slowed and her respiration decreased to half its level of normal function and her body temperature rose several degrees higher as her body became couched in sleep would her memory snap into focus, recording the processes of her mind as it kicked into overdrive, fueled by the fever circulating her sluggish limbs, sickening her body with symptoms of an illness she would not feel until she woke, but that her body had registered the moment the stone on the path had punctured her leg, driving heated blood from her veins.

She lay immobile, drifting further and further away from Cace, disconnecting from reality and signing on to the restless perceptions of her subconscious mind, thinking but not judging, seeing, but only the world projected onto her firmly closed eyelids … feeling much as her entire soul and being was suddenly rocked by a terrifying nightmare.

She was back in the cargo hold of the Imperial Star Destroyer *_Sojourner*_, her sister's ship, drifting sluggishly through its hideous metal bowels, a lightsaber in her grip.

_ Five years undone and here I am again where is she and oh I'm afraid, I'm afraid …_

Strings bound her ankles, urging them forward, her knees locking then jerking ahead without her consent. Strings around her wrists moved her arms out to the sides, balanced but vulnerable. A string around her neck; she could not turn her head to see behind her. 

_Who is there why am I what is it …_

Mist rose from the machine-hot floor to the freezing cold air. Her breath condensed before her in delicate filigrees, thin and metallic tasting from the coppery blood in her mouth, swift and definite from the fear, and she was walking forward, blind and controlled from above by someone she dared not see. 

_Oh I don't like this I'll take poison over this I'll take assassination, just let me look …_

An airlock hissed behind her; she convulsed, jerking around, wanting to be on the defense but inexplicably forgetting how. The strings tightened in her joints, and she was more afraid than she had been the first time she'd been here, in flesh, in danger. Perhaps because she hadn't really believed that it was really happening until after it had, until after she'd taken Mara's lightsaber and cut her sister down, severed her hand, undid her eighteen years of imprisonment with one deceptively simple flick of her electric blade. 

_You don't think about endless tears, or casualties, or anyone but yourself and getting out of there alive._

There were footsteps, and her muscles turned to water, her joints to elastic bands.

_ I didn't think about Kerryna. _

She was suddenly coherent, alert, able, and filled with a very awake sensation of having forgotten something very, very important. 

"Kerryna," she started, an explanation filling her head, "I'm sorry, I didn't think, I forgot to ask you if you wanted to come along, I think it might've been best, I'm hurt, Ker, just come here and get it over with, say the words, let me harm you quickly and then we can talk about it like rational women …"

Her own familiar voice sounded strangled and high, and the words seemed to be ahead of themselves, and they made no sense, and she was stammering, pleading. Her breathing quickened, became more labored.

_ My leg oh my leg oh …_

A silhouette appeared, framed in the pale, fragmented light from her borrowed lightsaber, very faint as the mists shrouded it like a cloak. The lightsaber's handle slipped in her sweaty palms. 

"Kerryna," she whispered, as the silhouette advanced towards her. 

"_No. ME._" 

The voice was loud and strong and harsh, seasoned from shouting commands, as Kerryna's had been, and it filled Lilandra's ears with a paralyzing ringing as the fog lifted around her, swirling away, sucked into invisible vents on walls she could not see in the sphere of her mind.

_ Oh it's not her oh what now what's different I thought we were over this!_

Five years ago, Kerryna had entered the airlock in the cargo hold of the _Sojourner_ dragging Mara Jade Skywalker by the collar behind her, and it had been a battle. Five years along, in the tortured, dented, skewed references of Lilandra's memory, it was not Kerryna who hovered above her cringing form on the searing hot floor, but – 

_ VERINA VERINA VERINA VERINA_

"Sweet – " 

"Lilandra!"

An acute, sharp shriek; it was Tara. Tara and Verina, Verina and Tara, Verina clutching Tara's jumpsuit collar, Tara ashen-faced and spattered with blood, Tara with her shoulder torn and her ribs broken and somehow still able to shout loud enough to pierce Lilandra's brain with cold and terror.

"Drop her, please drop her, please …" Lilandra begged, raising her lightsaber blade, fighting the shackles of sleep to wage war on her mind.

_ I liked you I trusted you I followed I love it here I don't want to go I can't go please …_

Urgency flashed through her, filling her body with heat once more. Her anger exploded; she hurled herself forward, white-hot blade swinging, driving apart the molecules of oxygen with a threatening hiss, only to leap back again as Tara vanished into thin air and Verina thrust out a blade of her own, standing at ready.

_Kerryna's clothes and Kerryna's saber and Kerryna's history only it's this woman, this old, old woman I should be laughing I should be killing myself laughing …_

… Then, the scene changed. 

Lilandra was no longer in the forgotten room of the _Sojourner, _but balancing on the ledge of the galaxy lake, hovering dangerously close to the edge of the water.

Instead of a smooth, inviting mirror, the lake had become a raging ocean, boiling with angry waves like a hurricane sea, sizzling hot droplets of water like molten lava falling upon the stones at Lilandra's feet, scarring them with brown acid remains, gouging holes in the sturdy rock. 

_ The sky is falling no it's worse than that it's falling on me I can't take this I can't_

Verina's blade struck again and again, each thrust met by Lilandra's returning parry, heat cracking against burning heat, all the while Lilandra numb with shock, struggling to keep her precarious perch, her heels sliding slowly down towards the boiling crests tearing up the lake waters.

_ Why Verina this benign old lady this pillar of salt?_

Verina was laughing, harsh and high. Her cackle grated across each and every one of Lilandra's nerves, dragging shudders through her body like razor blades scraping the insides of her stomach and lungs and heart and head. The woman's lightsaber came swinging back around, and though Lilandra caught it feebly with her blue blade, the strength of the thrust flung her off her feet and out over the raging torrent of the ocean.

Grappling with dead air, she felt herself falling, and hit solid floor instead of violent water. She was back in the _Sojourner_.

With the wind knocked out of her, it was pointless to fight back. The lightsaber bucked out of control in her hand, and she dropped it. The blade vanished, and only Verina remained, leering above her. The laughter echoed in her head, derogatory and superior and ultimately triumphant as Verina brought her blade dangerously close to Lilandra's left leg.

"You poor fool," hissed Verina. "You've no idea, you can't do it, you're too weak!"

_ I won't listen I won't move I won't look …_

"You know what's coming …"

_ I don't I don't want to know I can't imagine_

"And you can't even move!"

_ It hurts oh it hurts oh move the blade I promise I'll be good_

"Idiot girl, open your eyes, see what's missing. Just don't tell."

_ Nononononononono I won't I won't_

"I will!" Lilandra screeched, rolling suddenly to the side to escape the searing heat separating the flesh on her thigh even from inches away.

"_You won't!_"

Then, Vernira slammed the blade into Lilandra's leg, just below her knee, slicing through skin and muscle and tendon and bone with frozen fire. Lilandra screamed in agony, and jerked violently, and her shoulder struck something hard, and she woke.

  


She couldn't believe how loud she screamed. She didn't think her lungs had the strength to drive air from themselves so forcefully. But the pain of Verina's lightsaber blade halving her leg was not entirely imagined, and so she screamed, for comfort, and although she sobbed, no tears came to her eyes. She wanted to call for somebody, anybody, just someone who would come and provide mercy, make this pain evaporate, make the confusion vanish, but names and faces eluded her. She knew nothing; saw nothing of the cozy interior of the dwelling. She felt only her leg, and didn't have the immediate sense to realize that feeling the pain meant she was out of danger.

There came a knock on her small wooden door, and it scared her badly enough to start her horrific screaming all over again. 

The door burst open, and Lilandra cowered against the floor, half-expecting to see Verina, or even Kerryna standing there, silhouetted in the weak light of a lantern. But it was neither. 

It was Cace, drenched with the rain that had begun to pour steadily down sometime while Lilandra dreamed, wearing only a pair of fraying denims and a short-sleeved shirt. He held a lamp in one hand, and the expression on his face was tired, but afraid.

"Lilandra!" he cried, seeing her lying on the floor beside her bed, facing him, rocking backwards and forwards and clutching her injured leg. Her bandage had fallen away, probably while she had thrashed in her bed, and Cace couldn't help but cringe when he saw that the scab half-formed over its length had been torn anew, sending dark rivers of blood spilling down her leg to pool on the floor. Her knee-length shorts were stained with it, and there was a bright smear on her cheek where her dripping hands had reached up to wipe her hair out of her eyes.

_ Oh, my …_

"Lilandra, what happened?" 

She just couldn't seem to be able to control the sounds being pushed from her raw throat. At first thought, it occurred to him that she might still be partially asleep, her mind lost between unconsciousness and wakefulness. He didn't dare wake her in that case, or he was liable to kill her with shock. 

But then he saw that she had begun to cry, and that she was staring up at him as if to ask why he did not make any move to comfort her, leaving her to sob uncontrollably on the floor, curled tightly into a ball. No, she was awake, and she was in some very real pain.

Cace ran to her, pulling her up into a sitting position, pressing her fighting arms against her sides, taking her freezing hands in his, trying desperately to calm her down, holding her, tightly, tightly, so that she didn't injure herself as she thrashed in his arms, and then putting one hand over her mouth. She bit his knuckles, but the move had the desired effect: she stopped screaming. And once the screaming had stopped, she seemed to come out of it gradually, reduced to a shaking specter tangled in his strong grip on the floor. 

She stared up at him with a wild look in her gentle hazel eyes, plagued by visions of whatever had prompted her internal riot. She didn't seem entirely together, and this worried Cace, but he was more concerned about her injury. She had lost a lot of blood in a relatively short time, and he'd seen victims of infection before, so far gone with fever that they could scarcely remember their names. He pressed the inside of his wrist to her forehead. Lilandra was burning up. 

Standing, he lifted her now-inactive form up off the floor, and carried her to the bed, laying her upon it before grabbing the vial he had used earlier from where he'd left it on the shelf by the door. There were clean rags, as well, which he snatched up, returning to Lilandra's bedside and cleaning her wound for the second time that night. 

_ It didn't look this bad before,_ he thought worriedly, noting the splotchy rings of red surrounding the gash once he'd cleared away the blood. 

Filled with a sudden desperation, he pulled her up again, and put his arms around her, even to just thaw her out a little bit from the paralysis that had followed her fit. To his immense relief, she slipped one arm around his waist in return, and nestled her head against his shoulder, sighing. 

"You'll live," he told her, and she nodded, as if only just realizing this. "Want some water?"

"Yes," she managed to gasp, releasing her hold on him and falling back onto the mattress. 

He crossed the room to the pitcher on the windowsill, and filled the accompanying wooden cup with water fresh from the East River. 

"Medicinal qualities," he said, trying to keep his tone light as he handed her the cup. She drank thirstily.

"Now," he added seriously. "What in red hell happened in here?"

It was as though Lilandra was hearing him for the first time. Filled with shame as she realized that it was her blood that spattered his shirt and arms, she chewed her lip in silence, trying to think of some words to justify her most un-Lilandra-like behavior. How much would he be able and willing to understand? Five minutes ago, she had honestly thought she was dying. Now, as the cold water slipped down her throat, stirring her pulse and cooling her temperature, she was honestly embarrassed. 

It was no longer the reality of the dream that scared her – thinking about it, it hadn't been at all realistic. Verina, in her sister's place as the tyrant of the Imperial court? It was an impossible thought no matter which angle you considered it from. But it had been so vivid an image; the way her face had twisted with delight as she'd driven her lightsaber into Lilandra's already damaged leg, the way she'd taunted, "Don't tell …"

_I have to tell,_ she thought, dismayed. 

"I had a dream," she told Cace. "About Verina."

She gave him the heavily edited version of events, craftily erasing the reality of Kerryna from the script tumbling from her mouth, to the effect that Cace had only the knowledge that Verina had captured Tara, and seemed triumphant, defiant … confident that something was going to happen to propel her to even more power, presumably power over Lilandra. Something that she thought Lilandra should have some idea about – which she absolutely didn't – but didn't want her to share. 

"I screamed that I would tell, should whatever the something is come to me, and that was when she sliced my leg."

"Sliced your leg?" Cace asked disbelievingly, his hand drifting to the bandage on her shin.

Lilandra drew an invisible line from her knee to her ankle with her finger, showing him exactly how Verina had done it. "With a lightsaber."

Cace chuckled quietly. "That's a laugh. Verina hasn't touched a lightsaber in twenty years!"

"I guess it was just a bad dream, then," Lilandra said, just as softly, gazing straight into his eyes with doubt and uncertainty in hers.

"It really scared you, didn't it?" Cace asked, reaching over to place his palm on her cheek. She nodded, feeling like a child.

"I feel like such an idiot," she murmured. 

"Don't. I take it you don't have nightmares often."

She shook her head. "Hardly ever."

"Then you have an excuse. I wouldn't worry about Verina, though," Cace added. "She does talk some vitriol sometimes, but I don't think she'd ever actually want to _harm_ anyone."

He stood, and placed his wrist on her forehead again before moving to her neck and lifting the bottom of her shirt to test the temperature of her stomach.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Checking your fever again before I go. I'm worried that you might have an infection."

She didn't seem to hear the second part of what he said.

"You're leaving?" she cried, sitting up suddenly. 

"I need some sleep. _Me myoh canai_! But your temperature's gone down now that you're awake, so …"

"Don't leave!"

He paused, glancing down at her with eyebrows raised. It struck him that they'd had a complete reversal of roles in the last eighteen hours. Where she had been the dominant, secure, knowledgeable one at dinner and during the dance, she had seemed to relinquish power to him since her fall, needing, perhaps, to feel like someone else could be in control of her destiny as well. He was reminded of something Jiromie had told him once: "A life is entirely too much for one person alone to handle." Maybe Lilandra had been feeling this way for a while now.

"Please stay," Lilandra pleaded. "I won't have another nightmare if someone's here to distract me."

He gave in without much further resistance. The truth was, he hadn't slept much in the past three hours for thinking about Senator Ilkhaine and her awkward ways and painful honesty, not to mention the way she'd kissed him back, completely contrary to his expectations, with the same apparent certainty of emotion as he'd kissed her in the first place. In any other time and place, their encounter most likely wouldn't have ended at kissing. That intrigued Cace enough to concede to hanging around a little while longer. 

"I'll stay until you fall asleep again, but then I'm going back, alright?"

"Thank you," Lilandra breathed, flopping back on the mattress, seeming much more herself now that light and human contact had been returned to her realm. "I'm sorry. I never sleep well my first night in a new place."

Her feeble attempt at a joke brought a small grimace to Cace's lips. He crawled over her to the other side of the bed, and pulled a corner of the blanket across his shoulders. "I'm sure the nightmare meant nothing. I guess Verina really scared you on a subconscious level, huh?"

"I guess," Lilandra shrugged, staring up at the circle of light cast on the ceiling by the lantern on the floor. 

There was a restless silence, neither of the two occupants of the bed feeling as tired as they had originally thought, but rather markedly awkward. Maybe Verina wasn't the most romantic of topics of conversation at the moment; Lilandra was perfectly willing to dismiss the nightmare completely, feeling now overwhelmed with shame and puzzlement over her own childish reaction, which had left her with a sore throat and a rather fragile leg.

She wanted to relish the irony of this moment, her lying in bed with the most unlikely object of her latest girly affection, the singular one she'd never have expected to work out in a hundred million years, what with all the Whills' religious restrictions on love in the physical sense, and everything she'd done thus far to freak Cace out completely, and her growing appreciation for fate. 

"Do you feel a sense of obligation?" she asked quietly of Cace, arching one eyebrow and shivering in spite of herself. She didn't know why she had the impression that they'd missed a vital step in the progression of most normal romances … several months, in fact. Perhaps, as with the senators, she'd been expecting a more conventional dinner and show before sharing a bed. But this wasn't Coruscant or Chad. Here on Terapinn, time had been accelerated. Where any of her dreams were concerned, all bets were off. That included traditions.

"No, not really," Cace murmured, wrapping a comforting hand around her wrist and squeezing it.

Chewing her lip in thought, Lilandra felt the urge to ask the question that had been on her mind since the dance.

"What do you think of that whole marriage thing, anyway?" This she punctuated with a wide, jocund smile.

To her surprise, Cace chuckled softly, and released her wrist to stroke her damp hair affectionately. "I can't say I've ever given it much thought. I've just sort of accepted being single as my vocation in this arrangement, because I don't think I've ever encountered anyone in the village who I was particularly tempted to marry. Maybe in the broader galaxy, I'd have had more of a choice, but I'm not sure what to make of your way of doing things either."

"My way?" 

"Your funny little games, Lilandra."

Lilandra bowed her head in shame, feeling heat spread across her cheeks, her returning confidence a little dented. 

"Not just you, mind, but Tara and Anakin as well. And Luke and Mara. From what I've seen of your people, love is a competition, and a ruthless one at that."

"Yes, but our 'people' aren't typical of the rest of the galaxy." Lilandra reminded him. 

Cace nodded, seeming to catch her meaning.

"I'm not typical either."

"I knew that when you kissed me, though," Lilandra murmured. "That's why I laughed. This place is so unreal."

They chuckled; stunned by the casual nature of the conversation though a bare six inches separated them on the narrow mattress. 

"I really like you, senator," Cace said, his voice filled with a quiet respect. "That's why I kissed you. I've never done that before."

"What, acted on impulse? Or kissed someone you liked?"

"The second one." He seemed embarrassed.

"Oh." She smiled a strange sort of smile, knotting her hands. 

"Lilandra?"

"Yes, Cace?"

"I've decided I like the marriage idea. From what I've seen of your friends, most relationship problems seem to have been caused by a lack of understanding of the point at which the relationship stands. With marriage …well, you can't really argue with the finality of a commitment like _that_ can you?"

"No," Lilandra admitted. "But have you ever heard of divorce?"

To her shock, Cace laughed loudly. "_Te lalai ke te_ _pali lolo_," he replied. "Verina's catchphrase."

"Roughly translated?"

"Stay, if you go a little crazy'. Basically, like it or lump it."

Lilandra smiled in the dark at Cace's startlingly modern analogy. "You have such an interesting way of putting things," she remarked bemusedly. 

"Everyone says so. Got it from my parents. _They_ didn't like each other much, so they were always kicking around subtle reproofs and sarcastic jabs, but like I said, divorce is unheard of."

"But if marriage is such a spontaneous thing here – I mean to say, once you've eliminated the dating phase and the engagement phase, you're left with a meeting and a wedding – then how come people don't wind up having second thoughts more often?"

"Luck? The certainty of the will? I couldn't tell you, because it's never applied to me. Everyone I've asked has given me the same infuriating answer – that it's fate, that you'll just know when it happens …"

Lilandra considered this for a moment. 

"Tara and Anakin have been living together for three months now. Sharing a bed, granted, but it's not like the sex has improved their relationship by any means," she pointed out. "Fate is only a viable excuse until one partner or the other runs out of patience. Then you write your failure off to whatever you want to – angst, desperation, fleeting passion …"

"Tara and Ani seem happy enough," Cace observed. 

"Happy enough, but not with each other."

"Why?"

Lilandra sighed. "Tara has this habit of running away whenever she feels too fenced in by Ani's adoration. She's done it more times than I can count, and he hates it, because it confuses him. He's such a simple boy – he sees in black and white terms, and he can't understand how Tara becomes trapped in the gray region so often."

Cace nodded, seeming unsurprised.

"So he gets offended," Lilandra continued dryly, "and they don't speak, and the academy divides by support. Mara, his aunt, sides with him, because she can't stand cowardice, while Luke absolutely cherishes Tara and invariably is the one who convinces her to come back. Jaina joins forces with Mara, while Dave tries to remain impartial because he loves Tara but is Anakin's best buddy."

"And you?" Cace prompted.

"I'm never there to witness it," Lilandra said. "I only hear about it through the Leia Solo grapevine. She's the Chief of State of the Allied Republic, and my boss, and Luke's twin sister. Hence my tenuous connection to the Skywalker family."

"Ah. So you're into family politics as well as galactic politics?"

"Absolutely."

Cace thought for a second.

"So you don't think that Tara and Anakin are meant to be?"

"Who am I to judge?" Lilandra answered. "I've had one relationship that by some remote stretch of the imagination I could equate to something not unlike what Ani and Tara have now, and I was convinced it would last forever. But I was only eighteen – I mean, when I think about it now, I was just a kid. I didn't know what I wanted, and I did exactly what was expected of me when it fell apart – I blamed it on the curiosity of adolescence, and dismissed it completely."

"Oh," said Cace. 

"I guess you might say that I believe fate takes you only as far as you're willing to go, as much as I cherish the possibility of love at first sight. You may meet someone by chance to whom you're intensely attracted, and who happens, by some stroke of fortune, to be intensely attracted to you, but when it comes to the pivotal moment that demands commitment … fate isn't going to step in and make up your mind for you. You have to rely on your own convictions, and maybe that's why I'm still single."

She beamed. "I've never had the conviction to adhere to a commitment. I'm too afraid of failure."

"That's incredibly charming," Cace replied honestly, grinning at her across the pillow. "If what you believe is true, then the only reason people stay together is because they aren't entirely certain that fate is going to give them a another chance at finding true love."

"The Last Chance ideology," Lilandra said. "Sounds like a viable excuse for adulterers – every chance could be the last one, so might as well stay for a while, until the next chance comes along. Every philanderer should practice it."

Cace laughed aloud. "When do you find the time to think of these things?"

"Here and there," Lilandra giggled.

"Tell me, though," Cace pressed. "How do you excuse lovers who stay true forever? They exist, perhaps as proof of fate's presence in our lives."

"I fight the temptation of immediate security in pursuit of that ideal," Lilandra murmured, and then smiled sagely, taking his hand at her side. "For all my theories, I still believe that I'll know true love when I crash into it headfirst."

They were still for a minute or two, listening to the rain drumming on the roof, afraid to move, as though the moment were corporeal, some vastly fragile article that could shatter at a breath, something still to be feared and simultaneously admired, protected … obeyed. 

Carefully and slowly, Cace released her hand, moving his own to her waist, and in a gesture so innocent and automatic it seemed a command of the very silence surrounding them, kissed her reverently on the mouth, lingering there, encouraged by the gentle weight of her arm curled just as ingenuously across his back. 

It was Lilandra who broke their embrace first, however, pushing him gently away and then turning her face bashfully to the mattress, smiling in spite of the seriousness of the moment, and she felt relief flood her when Cace laughed, understanding that she was wondering exactly what he'd meant to imply by his actions. He wasn't entirely sure himself, so he steered the conversation back onto its original course.

"Where does Tara go, when she runs away?"

"Tatooine, Luke's home planet and hers – but I'm not exactly supposed to know that, so shush," Lilandra grinned, again engaged in the discussion.

"How do you know?"

"I figured it out on my own. We stopped to refuel on Tatooine on our way here, and she practically went mental when she found out. I think she was afraid that Anakin would figure it out as well, and then she'd have nowhere to run anymore."

"You're too clever for your own good, you know," Cace teased, poking her in the ribs.

"I just see things that other people usually miss."

"You'd make a good Keeper, then, when Verina finally lets go."

They both laughed then, without knowing why. It wasn't a particularly funny conversation, to be having in bed, no less. 

_ Don't people usually talk about these things over coffeine?_ Lilandra wondered with a small smirk. _Gosh, caffeine … what a forgotten luxury!_

"Have you ever tried coffeine?" she asked Cace, knowing full well what a random evasion of the subject of Verina she was making. 

He appeared confused for a moment, but then said dryly, "Oh, right – that empowering stuff. No. Never tried it. Heard about it, though. Jiromie had all the experiences out there, and shared the stories with me."

"He sounds like a good teacher."

"He is," Cace said. "He gets lonely sometimes, though. It's strange: I don't think he likes it here very much."

"Maybe he had something better in the real world," Lilandra suggested.

"I don't doubt it. Maybe we all did, even me. I was too young when it happened to remember much about before. Isn't it weird; that for most of us, our first memory is of persecution?"

"Undeserved," whispered Lilandra, looking up at the shadowy walls of the hut, taking in the empty shelves and the wooden furnishings and her cloak hanging from the hook on the back of the door. She wished more than anything that she could tell Cace about Kerryna, and growing up knowing nothing of her real parents except their horrific demise, and the power that had lain dormant in her for seventeen years, and how the past five years had seemed to her to be a beautiful, unreal dream. But although she trusted him, she was still reserved. 

Something unknown, vastly unknown, had given her the idea that if she were to tell him her story now, it would ruin their trust rather than strengthen it. The nearest she could come to pinning down the source of her instinct was by labeling it as all the things she still had yet to learn about her sister. It pained her to realize that she couldn't tell her own story, not in its entirety, without paralleling it with Kerryna's, so profound was the influence that her sister had had upon her destiny … and Kerryna was twenty years of blank in Lilandra's memory. 

"I guess you wouldn't really know about persecution, Lilandra," Cace said wistfully.

"Oh, I've seen my fair share of it," she disagreed. "Out there, the war trials are beginning. That's persecution immersion." She neglected to mention Kerryna yet again, who had been in and out of court many times in the past years, calling often on Lilandra to testify in her defense. That was really the extent of Lilandra's experience with the trials – a senator's place was in the senate, not the Supreme Court – but she knew, instinctively, of persecution. As a Jedi, it was difficult to disregard the injustices of the past, particularly when they had resulted in the death of two sets of parents, and her subsequent status as orphan for much of her young life.

"Wish I could see that sort of justice," Cace replied. "It would be … like fulfillment for my people." He actually sounded in earnest. 

"Maybe you will," Lilandra said hopefully. "My friends and I came here to help you. You counted on that. There might still be a way to free you from this prison."

Cace smiled at her, reaching out to push her hair back behind her ear. "You're sickeningly optimistic, you know that?"

"I've been told," she murmured in reply. "But there's a chance, wouldn't you say?"

"There are too many missing pieces to the puzzle of our imprisonment: my parents' deaths and the demise of their fellow explorers; the return of Palpatine's spirit to guard us – that in itself is the biggest mystery of them all." Cace frowned. "His presence isn't even semi-tangible. It's not as if he's a ghost that wanders our forests and stands guard outside the village gates. The way he manifests this imprisonment is something only my parents could've told us … and they're lost to us."

"It's something even I can't see," Lilandra said quietly. "I would normally look for the obvious, but nothing on this world is obvious."

"The Wills were not an obvious people. We built our legacy on subtlety and harmony."

"Then this will require a lot of investigation."

"Yes."

"We have time."

Cace stared at her in amazement while seconds ticked past, memorizing the expression on her face at that moment. He decided that even if she went home tomorrow and he never saw or heard from her again, he would remember that expression, because it filled him with such hope. 

She was offering help – help was a possibility Cace had all but dismissed completely ten years ago, when his family suddenly became the center of a controversy nobody really understood, but that shocked the Whills to the core of their secluded institution. 

Maybe, even though they were separated from the galaxy, they had always believed that they could at least own Terapinn the way they had owned Raltonen, that if things became too hard, or the village began to seem too small, or they ran out of resources to sustain an ever-growing population, they could branch out, settle elsewhere, begin anew the way the Masassi had on Yavin when the galaxy was still theirs to colonize in part.

But Palpatine had been thorough in the exile of his people, confining them not only to a single secret world, but to a single river valley as well. They had been well provided for here, they had survived these twenty lonely years with the birth of new babies and the re-establishment of the old norms of the Wills and their misunderstood religion, and yet … it was imprisonment. 

That was impossible to forget, no matter how close they came to the way things used to be, no matter how many epidemics they conquered or bad winters they weathered. They were still trapped, unable to move from this place even when the sick surrounded them or the snow was piled to their windowsills in the middle of spring.

That gave such importance to everything they did, everything that happened to them. It was like struggling through a desperately unrehearsed performance, where every accident or drawback or flaw in their methods was painfully obvious, and had such a profound influence on the good. It took the flavor out of triumph … and it made the failures feel so much worse. 

This didn't seem to matter to Lilandra Ilkhaine. A stranger could've deduced from looking at her face that she had only come to occupy a small corner of a much bigger picture. For her, Terapinn had begun two weeks ago. For Cace, it had filled his entire life. To her, this was new, this was exciting, while every day that had passed since that crazy moment of desperation when fourteen-year-old Cace had plunged beneath the waters of the lake had felt, to him, like a ridiculously drawn-out demise, like every seed he put in the earth just filled up the soil his bones would eventually occupy fifty, sixty years from now. Twenty years had passed already … what was another day, another week, a month, a year, another twenty?

Lilandra had changed all that. Through no fault of her own, she had added new, remarkable meaning to … to everything. He probably would've felt the same way about any strange woman who had landed in his field with six of her friends, and yet … how could this be anything but divine intervention? He felt now, because of her involvement in the interception of his decade-old message, that he had known her since he was fourteen and stupid, and had somehow known all along that she would be the one to be lying here beside him, talking liberation as though it were backyard gossip. 

He felt as though all the days before this one had been preparation for this contact, as though he had simply been building up enough desire to make Lilandra and her friends a reality.

And now, this talk of time! When had minutes become so meaningful? When had an hour spent in conversation begun to look so important? 

It seemed twenty years were not enough for the time that Cace wanted to spend with Lilandra Ilkhaine. 

She was still there, gazing at him expectantly, no doubt wondering whether or not he was going to answer her any time soon, and his heart was beating unusually fast as he stared back, the rest of his body stilled into submission by the determination in her words: "_We have time_". 

"Sometimes I feel that time is closing in on me," he commented at last.

"Then I'll hold it back," she murmured. 

Once again, it was suddenly clear.

She knew what she had to do: kiss him gladly and willingly first, and then sleep, and tomorrow morning have Tara fix her leg up once and for all. Then it was on to find Luke, and regroup with the others, and fearlessly approach Verina, propose an investigation, make contact with Yavin through the galaxy lake, and enlist the help of the Academy Jedi. Whatever would happen from there … they would cross that bridge, like so many others, when they came to it. 

It had become an official adventure. 

After a moment, Cace spoke again.

"Lilandra?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"It's no problem. It's what we came a million miles from home for. Some fine holiday fun."

"You know, I'm glad I got chance to talk to you," Cace said.

Lilandra cast a tired glance over her shoulder. "Yeah. Same."

"Lilandra?"

"Yes, Cace?"

There was a pause. "Never mind. Goodnight."

"You aren't leaving, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

Lilandra, hearing something rather entreating in her new friend's voice, turned over to face him. Then, taking his fingers in hers, she softly kissed his palm before drawing her knees up to her stomach and snuggling down into her blankets. 

"Sweet dreams," he whispered, holding his hand in front of his face once she had released it.

"No doubt," she said, and smiled.


	21. Exchange

~21~

Exchange

  


Perhaps it was some time while Anakin and Tara lay side by side asleep, exhausted from the dancing and their tickle war, or while Lilandra and Cace talked of love and time between bloodied sheets, or even while Luke slept peacefully for the first time in weeks, no longer having to compete with Mara's snores, that Jiromie Taggant sat before the dying embers of the bonfire, keeping a silent, pensive guard over the smoldering, twisted logs and hot white ashes. 

They burned on, heedless of the fine rain washing the soil around them, curls of steam rising from the backs of the firestones and saturating the air with the scent of damp and smoke. 

Jiromie's blue eyes held a haunted look, not really seeing the fire pit before him, but reaching far, far into the past, wandering in a world that it seemed no one but he remembered. 

It was a world he could once touch easily, but as the years had gone by, and he had gotten older, and his memory had slowly begun to degenerate, it had slipped further and further from his grasp. It was like watching someone die slowly, a little bit at a time, wasting away until there was nothing left but the shell of a formerly exuberant being. 

"You do humor me, Jiromie," a dry voice said from behind him, pensive and even.

Jiromie shook himself from his stupor, and glanced uncomprehendingly at the newcomer. His eyes widened a fraction when he saw Verina, resplendent in burgundy robes and trident-like headdress, withered old hands clasped in front of her stomach.

"Grandmother." Jiromie dipped his head in respect. 

"What are you doing out here in the rain all alone?" Verina asked, approaching the fire one surprisingly strong step at a time.

"I could ask you the same question," Jiromie replied soberly. "Have you been listening to my thoughts this whole time?"

"Could I help it?" Verina asked pleasantly. "I like to know what's going on in my grandson's mind." She took a seat beside him on a log, face hidden in the shadow of her ornate headgear.

"You think often on the past," she commented. 

"I miss it." Jiromie turned his eyes to the fire once more.

"Of course you do," she answered, clucking her tongue sympathetically. "It wasn't easy for anyone to make the transition from _out there_ to _in here._ I can only imagine the feelings our guests have begun to stir in you."

"Well," Jiromie started, but trailed off. It was not just him who had begun to feel something that had not been felt in the Whilldom for a decade. He had seen Cace slip hurriedly from his dwelling a half hour ago, lantern in hand, and disappear into Lilandra Ilkhaine's. He had not yet emerged, but Jiromie would not allow Verina to know that. He would just have to trust that his student knew enough to keep his physical distance from the senator. 

And yet, in a way, he wanted something to happen between them, for that hint of feeling circulating in everyone's blood to increase in volume once they realized that the rules had again been broken. It would be as it was ten years ago, when eight adults had departed the village at sunrise, bearing stolen arms and seeds, the spirit of revolution running high in their veins … there would be _hope_. 

It was impossible to ignore how much the attitude of the villagers had already lightened since the arrival of the Yavin Jedi with their jokes and rivalries and unbounded knowledge of the galaxy beyond. Jiromie alone knew how they had come to find Terapinn, knew that it was, by all rights, an accident, a misinterpretation of an originally misguided cry for help. 

He had shown Cace the secrets of the lake against Verina's will. He had shared the same hope as his young pupil: that maybe this time, help would come.

"Tell me, Jiromie – what do you think of our visitors?" Verina asked, slightly cloyingly. Jiromie knew for certain that she was reading his thoughts. Guilt flashed through his head, and well as a tiny shiver of anxiety, though he knew that, by all rights, he shouldn't feel guilty for hoping that this was the beginning of something that could ultimately alter the future of the Whills. Verina, as their leader, would surely be hoping the same …

"I like them," Jiromie murmured. "They're very fascinating people, all of them. They seem to like it here, too. One of them, the senator, has already become friends with my student."

"The Lendene boy?"

"Yes. Perhaps their interest in each other is a little more than friendly." 

He grinned, but Verina seemed greatly perturbed by this fact; evident in the way she shifted her slim frame on her log, made a deep, impatient sighing sound, and then shifted again. She looked at Jiromie, thin mouth slightly pinched at the corners.

"How can you tell?"

Jiromie chuckled, letting his head fall back, shaking his hair from his eyes. "When they were sat on the log together during the story, I could see they were holding hands. And they left for a while, during the dance."

"Alone?" 

The shock in Verina's voice both amused and unnerved Jiromie. Surely she must remember the days of being in love with Jiromie's grandfather, and the thick, heady sensation that one got from being alone with their respective interest, and the bewildered stupor that followed a passionate kiss, whether it was the first or the ten hundredth …

Certainly Jiromie remembered, way back in that world he made some time to escape to each day.

"Alone. I believe he took her down to the river."

"They're back now?"

"Yes. Not to worry, Grandmother." Time to appease her fears. "Cace is an intelligent boy, and knows the rules of Whilldri. He'll not get closer to her than is necessary, or than he feels is appropriate to your demands."

Jiromie sighed at his blatant lie once he had said it, though his sigh was meant to be interpreted as pensive. 

Cace was far too idealistic and, well, sexually inexperienced to follow Verina's strict guidelines for much longer. He knew what it was like to be twenty-three and all alone in the galaxy; he'd been in Cace's position once, a very long time ago. Unfortunately, he was sure Verina had caught the fib.

If she had, she didn't mention it, merely frowned down into the embers, saying to him then the same thing she had been saying to him every night more or less for the past twenty years:

"You ought to get yourself to bed, Jiromie. You'll want to be well-rested tomorrow."

Jiromie hesitated for a moment, a halted physical negotiation, but Verina waved a papery hand towards his hut, and resignedly, he went. The heat of the fire lingered on his cheeks for long after he'd gone inside the darkened space, laid down on his bed without even undressing, and stared for a while up at the ceiling before falling into a restless sleep.

Watching him retreat, Verina's frown deepened. It had been a long time - a _very_ long time - since Verina had been in love, but she could remember what sort of promises inevitably got made and broken, and the detrimental effects that would spawn therein. That had been in the days before love had been outlawed.

She couldn't allow Cace to fall in love with the senator. Like him, she too seemed irreverent and spontaneous - good qualities for a politician, Verina supposed, but not for a missionary. People like her tended to become overly visionary when placed in a situation such as this one. And what better place for a senator to flex her diplomatic muscles than on a forgotten prison world?

If Cace became stupid with adolescent love for her, or if her feelings mirrored his, he'd have a just cause to want freedom from Terapinn. 

But just causes had no place in Verina's carefully calculated world. She too had made her fair share of promises in her day, and though she had not been far from being irreverent and spontaneous at one time, she knew how important it was to follow through on a promise.

If someone had asked her twenty years ago if she thought that in two decades her people would have a shot at freedom, she would've replied yes. As it was, no one had asked her. But that didn't mean she hadn't seen it coming.

Twenty years was a long time to spend formulating and perfecting a plan, just as it was truly long enough to spend waiting for the opportunity to finally fulfill one of the most important promises she had ever made to anyone: the promise that irreverence and spontaneity would _never_ again dominate the galaxy, starting with the silencing of the most irreverent and spontaneous beings of all: the Jedi.

Verina chuckled quietly to herself. It was finally time to follow through, after twenty years of earning her respect as leader, constructing her alibi, building up her defense … perfecting the ultimate backhand.

The best part was, no one at all would see it coming. 

She knew full well what Cace and the senator had in mind. Vernira had done enough mental background work on Lilandra Ilkhaine to know that the young woman's entire past had been constructed by a series of fantastic coincidences which she considered to be some product of her own apparent influence.

Lilandra, convinced that the discovery of Terapinn was a pure stroke of good fortune and an opportunity to make her mark on a civilization - even if it wasn't her own - would undoubtedly make an attempt for the liberation of the Whills. Luke Skywalker wouldn't need much cajoling to go along with her, either, and she seemed to be on good enough terms with the others that they would follow her lead without a second thought.

Vernira made a tight fist at her side. Lilandra's cocksure confidence needed to be taken down a notch or two. Again, a miraculous coincidence: here was Lilandra, dead certain that she was at the top of her game, with a handsome admirer and plans that would skyrocket her to hero status, and here was Verina, in need of an excuse to put her own plans into action without breaking the trust of her subjects, but also eager to rid the village of the threat of Lilandra's idealism. Simply stunning. 

Vernira thought for a moment, of Jiromie, sitting longingly by the fire. 

She knew where he had been, in his mind. He'd been _there_, in the arms of that woman, a woman so much like Lilandra, filled with ideas and plans for preventing what she must have known was going to happen regardless of her efforts to convince him otherwise. Like Lilandra, she hadn't known her own potential. She was as much a prisoner as Lilandra was now, a victim of Verina's promises. Trapped, she was easy to possess.

Verina had learned much about how obsession consumes a person, eats away at them from the inside, makes them far easier to control …

She had learned much about the power of the will. 

It was time to put that power to work. 


End file.
